The Portrait
by Rogue11
Summary: While cleaning out the attic at his late grandmother's house, Milliardo and his friends come across an old oil-painting of a young man who appears to have been a previous owner of the house. But as they start to dig deeper they soon begin to suspect that
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **This story was written by a fan only for the enjoyment of other fans, without any monetary compensation. Gundam Wing and its characters are registered trademarks of Bandai Entertainment Inc.™ and Sotsu Agency. All rights reserved.

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**The Portrait**

**Part 1**

"Maxwell, hey Maxwell wait up."

The young man with the long braided hair and the cobalt blue eyes turned his head and nearly rolled his eyes. "What do they want?"

'They' were Relena Peacecraft and Dorothy Catalonia, two freshmen at Marymount University just like him. But that was pretty much were the similarities between them ended. Both girls came from old money and their families had been associated with this school since its founding. Duo on the other hand was only able to attend the expensive school on a full scholarship and his family…what family? He had been brought up in group houses and foster homes for as long as he could remember.

"Hello Maxwell, Wufei." Relena greeted him and his friend as they finally caught up to them.

"What's up?"

"I was wondering, do you still work for that moving company? You get to borrow their truck on the weekend, don't you?"

"Yeah, they'll let me use it if it isn't needed," he confirmed.

"Do you want to make a quick 50 bucks this Saturday?"

"Where's the catch."

"No catch. You see my parents are selling the house my grandmother used to live in until she died three years ago, and they are looking for someone to clean out the attic; take out all that old stuff and haul it to the junk."

"Hmm…" The last thing Duo wanted was hauling junk on the one weekend he wasn't working this month. But fifty dollar was a pretty good incentive.

"It's not far from the dorms either. Down on Kensington plaza."

"Wow, I had no idea you had a grandma that lived so close to the school."

"She doesn't, Maxwell. Are you even listening?" Dorothy jumped in snappily. "She just told you, her grandmother died."

"Well, alright. I think I can somehow fit it in. Get me the address before classes are over today. I need to make sure that I can get the truck."

"Great Maxwell, you are a lifesaver, catch you guys later."

Duo watched as the two girls strolled away, tilting his head with a grin as his eyes focused on their behinds. "Say what you want, they **are** hot."

"Maxwell, are you bulling the girls again?" another voice, deep and as smooth as velvet, came from behind him.

Duo turned his head with a snort. "Why would I do that? This isn't grade school you know."

The young man standing a few feet away, near the fountain, was slightly older than him, a senior at the school and coincidentally also Relena's older brother, Milliardo. He was tall and slender, his platinum-blond hair even longer than Duo's. He kept it pulled together in a loose pony tail, just because it was against school regulations to wear long hair open. Dressed in a pair of tight jeans, that most definitely weren't school regulation either, and a white dress shirt, standing there holding his sunglasses in his hand, he looked like someone who had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. No wonder he had been voted 'sexiest male student' three years in the row.

"Besides," the younger man added. "I seriously doubt those two would let themselves be bullied by anyone."

"Still, Relena will always be my little sister. I have to watch out for her. So, leave her alone, Maxwell. She is miles out of your league."

"Hey, I didn't do anything. Tell him, Wufei."

"He didn't," his friend confirmed.

Milliardo's ice blue eyed moved to the other youth, as thought he only now noticed him. A ghost of a smile on his face he crossed his arms and tapped his sunglasses against his lips. "Hello there, Wufei."

"Hello, Milliardo."

"If you really need to know, your sister hired me to clean out your Grandmother's attic this weekend, alright."

"Hired you? For how much?"

"Fifty bucks."

"Fifty dollar…?" Milliardo gave a short laugh. "I stand corrected. Relena doesn't need me to watch out for her anymore. She can take care of herself."

Duo Maxwell frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Our parents paid her $200 to clean out that attic three weeks ago."

"Why she and not you?" Wufei asked.

The other man shrugged. "Because they didn't ask **me**, besides I wouldn't have done it for 200."

"Well, how much work can it be? It's just an attic." Duo pointed out, earning himself another chortle from Milliardo.

"The old lady was 96 when she died, do you have the slightest idea how much junk one can collect over a lifetime that long? Besides, that house has been in my family for generations. Well anyway, I wish you luck."

With that the young man turned and started to walk away.

"By the way, Wufei here will be helping me."

Milliardo didn't even hold his step or turn his head. "That's nice!"

"What the… You must be out of your mind Maxwell, if you think I have nothing better to do on a Saturday…" his friend protested.

"Oh come on, Wu. We are friends after all. I'd help you if you were in a bind. Besides I have all intention of having Relena cough up at least another 50 bucks if she wants me to do the job. We can split it. So, what do you say?"

"I don't know yet," the other youth grumbled. "And don't call me Wu."

As they finally continued their walk to the dorms Wufei threw a look back at the tall blonde before he disappeared somewhere in the crowd.

"Even rich families have their problems, I guess."

"Huh?" Duo gave his friend a puzzled look.

"Milliardo has been living in a small apartment on his own since soon after he started college, right. Even thought the Peacecrafts have that huge estate, with guesthouse and everything up, in Quails Hill and not to mention his grandmother's house that seems to be standing empty. He works after school at the internet café on 3rd street, while Relena acts like spending her parent's money at the local mall is **her** job."

"I've heard that Milliardo 'moved out' of his parents home soon after coming out of the closet."

"…out of the closet?" Wufei echoed. "You mean Milliardo is…?"

"Gay!" Duo confirmed with a nod. "Man Wufei, aren't you ever listening when I try to teach you anything? The really hot ones are **always** gay. Besides, didn't you see the look he was giving you? He was basically undressing you with his eyes."

"Shut up, Maxwell." His friend flushed bright red. "You are an idiot."

The other youth laughed, then gave Wufei a serious look. "Come to think of…. How exactly do you know how big the Peacecraft's estate is? Could it be that Relena and her brother have the same taste in guys…?"

"Get your head out of the gutter, will you," Wufei growled. "Not that it is any of your business, but if you must know, I happen to tutor her in math last semester. That's all."

"If you say so," Duo grinned. Oh how he enjoyed teasing his friend.

###

"Oh come, on, Wu, what's with the long face?" A wide grin on his face Duo glanced at his friend in the seat next to him. "It's Saturday, the sun is shining, it's a beautiful morning …"

"Morning being the operative word," the other use growled. "I would be still sleeping peacefully, if you hadn't dragged me out of bed so rudely. And I told you a hundred times, do not call me Wu."

"But we both agreed to clean out that attic today."

"Correction," Wufei pointed out. "**You** agreed for both of us."

Duo shrugged but didn't say anything until he pulled up in front of a large Victorian style house. Like most of the buildings in this neighborhood, which now housed mostly students from the nearby college, it had seen better times. But in its prime, back in the mid to late 19th century, Kensington Plaza used to be the richest and most beautiful neighborhood in town. The people who lived here were probably the Bill Gates' and Warren Buffets of their time.

"126 Kensington…That's it isn't it?"

"How should I know? You got the address from Relena."

"You really are not a morning person, are you?" Duo threw another gaze at his friend before he maneuvered the small truck he had brought into the parking space in front of the house.

"Why do you think I'm taking only afternoon classes?"

"Well, you can sleep in tomorrow." The braided youth jumped out of the truck and slammed the door close behind himself. As he rummaged in his pockets for the key Relena had given him he could hear his friend exit as well. The moment he opened the front door the two young men were hit by a wave of stale and dusty air. Apparently no one had set foot into this house for quite a while.

Duo sneezed and rubbed his nose as his other hand searched for a light switch. He found it right next to the door but when he pushed it nothing happened. "No light, great. I'll get some flashlights from the car."

He ran back outside and by the time he returned Wufei had already pulled open a few heavy curtains and opened some windows. It was still murky and dim but at least they could find their way around without needed lights. Most of the furniture had been removed from the ground and first floors of the house, and the few pieces that had been left behind were covered in clear plastic and a thick layer of dust.

Once they reached the first floor the two young men had split up to look for the stairs leading to the attic. The room Duo found himself in looked like it used to be a library or study of sorts. Large build-in bookshelves lined two of the four walls, and an impressive fireplace with a decorated mantle was set against a third wall right between them. The shelves were empty now of course, but it was easy to imagine them filled with books, crackling flames in the fireplace, a comfortable chair with an ottoman beside it; or maybe a desk in the center of the room.

Duo suddenly held his step and looked at the ceiling when he heard what sounded like a creaking of floorboards from above. Did his friend already go ahead upstairs? "Wufei?!" he called out.

"Did you find them?" Wufei's voice came right from the next room.

"Not yet. I take it neither did you?"

"No…or actually I just did."

When the young man walked out of the study he saw it too, a narrow wooden staircase at the very end of the hall. "Great, let's get to work then."

#

Duo's yaw almost dropped as he looked around the huge open attic space. When Relena had asked about cleaning out the attic he had imagined a few old, damaged pieces of furniture, maybe some boxes of old clothes and junk like that. But this… it looked more like the showroom of an antique dealer. There was old furniture everywhere, and by old he meant in no way broken or worn out, but rather old-fashioned and yet very elegant. Most of them were covered with clear plastic or large white linen sheets. There were bookcases and a large ornate desk, tables and chairs, a couple of couches and a piano….

"A piano!? What the hell is she thinking?" Duo frowned. "Do I look like I can just throw a piano on my back and carry it down these stairs?"

"No," his friend confirmed dryly. "You just look like a sucker."

"But this is really something isn't it?" The young man sounded almost awestruck as he started to look closer at the things that were piled up. He had to turn on his flashlight, because the attic only had a few small round windows, which were covered with thin lace curtains that probably used to be white or ivory colored once upon a time. "It's like taking a step back into the past."

"Yeah," Wufei confirmed. He sounded a little less grumpy and a little more awake now. Maybe the coffee he had made his friend buy was finally starting to take effect. "Someone else's past. Do you think they even know what's up here? I mean, look at all those boxes and trunks; they are probably filled with someone's personal things."

"One way to find out," Duo shrugged as he crouched down in front of one of the smaller wooden trunks beneath one of the windows.

"Are you sure?"

His friend gave another shrug. "We **are** supposed to throw it away, after all. The people this stuff belonged to are all dead anyway, so I don't think they'll mind. Besides, aren't you the least bit curious? I never had a family, and no family history to go along with it either. Digging around in someone else's might be the next best thing."

"I suppose so," Wufei finally agreed.

Duo blew the layer of dust from the top of the trunk, but before he could even crack the top open Wufei suddenly raided his hand and stopped him.

"Wait! Did you just hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Footsteps; it sounded like someone is walking around downstairs," his friend insisted.

Duo swallowed as he remembered the sounds he thought he had heard earlier. _Could it be that there was someone else in the house? _

Silently the two young men listened for a few moments, but there was nothing.

"I don't hear anything."

"Neither do I now." Wufei shrugged. "I guess I must have been mistaken. Or maybe it was just the wind."

"Yeah, these old buildings always squeak and creak, right." Duo added. "Something about the wood constricting and expensing."

But just as he turned his attention back toward the old trunk he could hear it too; footsteps clear and loud. As they listened the footsteps seemed to come closer, and then there was the creaking of wood, as though someone was slowly coming up the stairs to the attic. Duo swallowed again as he exchanged a quick gaze with Wufei. Frantically he looked around for anything that he could use as a weapon. A wooden walking stick topped with a metal lions' head looked just about right. He grabbed it with both hands like a baseball bat, raised it over his head and waited…

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T.B.C.

Author's Note: Okay, so Halloween is already over, but this story just popped into my head and I couldn't wait till next year to write it. Hope you enjoy.


	2. Chapter 2

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**The Portrait**

**Part 2**

"Hello, anyone there?"

Duo let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding when Milliardo's platinum-blond head popped through the hatch in the floor. "Man," he complained. "What are you trying to do, give us a heart attack?"

The older youth frowned slightly at the sight of the raised walking stick in Duo's hands. "Please tell me you were pretending to play golf with that thing and not trying to split open my head?"

With a somewhat sheepish grin Duo finally put the cane back into the corner where he found it. "What are you doing here anyway?" he wanted to know. "Come to check up on us?"

"I was driving past here on my way home from work and thought you guys might like some breakfast." Milliardo held up a carrier with two drinks and a couple of paper bags from a nearby fast-food place. "But if you keep being pissy I'll eat it myself." In spite of those words he handed the food to Wufei who then passed one bag on to his friend.

"You are just coming home from work?" Wufei asked. "I thought you were working at that internet café. Don't they close at midnight?"

"That's ancient history. The place doesn't pay enough to even keep the cockroaches in my apartment fed. Once I turned 21 I found myself something a little more… lucrative and classy."

"No kidding, huh?" Duo grinned as he looked the older youth up and down. Milliardo was wearing a white suit with a black shirt and his long hair open.

As the two younger men settled down on one of the old couches and started to unwrap their breakfast Milliardo looked around the attic, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "This stuff really brings back memories. Grandma was still using some of this furniture when I was a kid." With a few steps he walked over to the piano and pulled away the white sheet covering it. "I was wondering where this thing went."

He pulled out the wooden seat and settled down in front of the instrument. After a few quick finger stretches and a couple of warm-up exercises the young man started to play.

"Wow,' Duo mumbled around a mouthful of French fries and breakfast burger. "I had no idea you can play the piano. And you are pretty good, too."

"Grandma used to be a music teacher." Milliardo turned his head and looked back over his shoulder without interrupting his play. "She was already retired by the time I was born, but she was still tutoring kids from home. Naturally, both Relena and I had to take lessons. I hated it as a child, because it cut into my playtime with my friends."

"I never learned to play any instrument, other than the triangle maybe. Sister Helen tried, but gave up soon. I'm totally tone-deaf. What about you, Wufei. You play anything?"

"Recorder and violin." The other youth shrugged. "It was required in our school."

Milliardo closed the lid on the piano and turned around on the seat. "You know, I had no idea how much of my grandmother's things are still up here."

"Yeah we were wondering about that, too." Duo nodded.

"Do you mind taking only a few things out today? Like those broken chairs and the rocker… I think I should talk to my parents about the rest first."

"I don't think we could take everything at once, anyway. I'd need a much bigger truck for that. But what about all those boxes and trunks?"

"I don't even know what's in those." Milliardo somehow managed to hook his foot around a smaller cardboard box and pull it closer. He sliced through the scotch-tape with his car keys and opened it to reveal nothing but old clothes. "Well these can definitely go, too."

The next box he reached for was filled with old photos and albums, some dating back to his father's childhood. "I think we'll have no choice to get through them one by one."

Milliardo checked out a few more boxes and started to sort them into piles, depending on if he thought they should be tossed out or were worth keeping, and once they had finished their breakfast Wufei and Duo were helping him. There were many boxes of old books and more photos, some of them so old that they were beginning to fade.

"Wow!" Duo flipped through a little chest with old, black and white pictures dated around the turn of the century. "Do you have any idea who any of these people in those photos are?"

"Not by just looking at them," Milliardo replied. "But they are probably family, so if I would check the family genealogy I'd probably come up with names to some of those faces."

"Sweet!"

"Maxwell, Wufei…Are you guys up there?" Relena's voice suddenly reached them from the floor below.

"Yes, up here in the attic," her brother confirmed.

The wooden stairs squeaked and moaned as she made her way up and a few moments later first her head and then the rest of her body appeared in the hatch. "So it **was** your car I saw parked out in front, Milliardo," she greeted her brother. "But what are you doing here?"

"Apparently the same as you." Milliardo gestured at the paper bag with the logo of a nearby bagel shop she was carrying.

"Oh," Relena looked at the bag then back up at her fellow classmates. "So you ate already?"

"Don't worry," Duo assured her with a grin. "There is always room for more. Are there any chocolate chip bagels?"

"Actually, there are," Relena tossed him the bag. "I figured you for a sweet tooth, Maxwell."

"What's with the outfit?" Wufei asked as he looked the young girl up and down. Relena was wearing a pair of paint-stained coveralls, steel toe boots and a plaid flannel shirt. "Are you planning to help?"

"Don't be silly. I have more important things to do."

"More important? Let me guess…" Duo's grin grew even wider. "You need to pick up the Indian, the policeman and the cowboy and then…you're going to the YMCA…YMCA." He suddenly started to sing and dance to the village people song.

Relena rolled her eyes. "Wufei, will you slap him for me?"

"With pleasure."

Still laughing about his joke, Duo tried to dodge, but he wasn't fast enough and his friend smacked him in the back of the head.

"Wait, isn't today that Habitat for Humanity thing you were talking about?" Milliardo asked.

"Oh, you actually do occasionally listen when I tell you something?" his sister gave him a little smirk.

"I always listen," he countered with a grin. "I just pretend not to."

Relena gave a lighthearted huff. "Will you walk me back to my car?"

"Sure."

As the two siblings left the attic Duo gazed after them thoughtfully. "Relena working at Habitat for Humanity; who would have thunk?"

"Actually, come to think of, she also helped organizing the "Kicks for Kids" event at my dojo last month," his friend added. "All the proceeds went to the Children's Hospital."

#

"Miri," Relena asked as she followed her brother down the stairs. "Will you be coming to my Debutantes Ball next month? Mom needs to know how many tickets to order."

"Can I bring a date?"

The young girl hesitated for just a moment. "If it was up to me you could bring anyone you want, you know that Miri, right?"

When Milliardo looked back over his shoulder he was smirking at her. "I was just kidding. Don't worry I wouldn't do anything to ruin your big day. I'll be there, and I'll bring a date; someone even mom and dad would approve of."

"Thanks."

"So, who did you asked to be your escort?" he asked.

"I'm not sure yet, Relena admitted. "Mom says I should ask Randolph Baker because we have known each other since kindergarten, but dad thinks Michael Forester might be a better choice since he is taller. It will look better in the pictures, he says."

"Mister Boring or Mister Dull, tough choice really," her brother teased.

"Oh…I know." Relena slipped her arm into her brother's and strolled side to side with him to the front door. "**You** could escort me. Rebecca's brother is presenting her."

"Yeah, right," Milliardo snorted. "I could also wear that purple blazer I inherited from Uncle Oswald to the next family gathering, but that's not going to happen either. Good try though."

"You are mean," his sister pouted.

"What about that boy in school you have an eye on; why don't you just ask him?"

"Heero?" Relena hoped desperately that she wasn't blushing. "I couldn't. What if he said 'no'? I could never face him again. Besides, how did you know about Heero anyway?"

"I didn't," Milliardo grinned. "I just figured there had to be **someone** in school you have a crush on."

"You!"

The young man laughed softly as she tried to kick him from behind. "**That** was not very ladylike, Miss Debutant," he chuckled.

#

By the time Milliardo made it back up to the attic Duo and Wufei had moved aside a few more broken chairs and sorted out a couple more boxes filled with clothes.

"What about this one?" Wufei gestured at a smaller trunk beneath the window. "It has a lock."

"Try one of these." Milliardo tossed him a bundle of keys that had been hanging on a hook.

There were at least three dozen keys, but most of them were too large to fit the small lock on the chest. After eliminating those, Wufei was left with little more than a handful. The first one he tried didn't work, but when he inserted the second key and turned it he could hear a little click when the lock sprung open. The first thing he saw when he lifted the top, was a picture, the painting of a young, beautiful woman in a very old-fashioned wedding dress with a large hat and a young man in a black or dark grey tail coat.

"Seems like your grandparents' wedding painting. Amazing how much your grandfather resembles you, Milliardo."

"I want to see." Duo had to get up onto his toes to look over Wufei's shoulder. "Wow, he is right. It looks totally like you, well except for the hair. I guess if you ever plan on cutting yours, this is what you will look like. Even his age seems to be about the same as yours."

"Let me see that." Milliardo reached out and Wufei carefully passed him the oil painting. As he looked at it closely the young man found the artist's signature in the lower left corner, along with the year when the picture was painted. "1902. I thought so, it's not my grandparents. Grandpop wasn't even born till 1905, so I suppose this could be his parents then."

Beneath the wedding picture was another, somewhat smaller painting; a portrait of a young man with ginger-blond hair and blue eyes. "Who is he?" Duo wanted to know as he picked up the painting.

Milliardo shook his head. "No idea. Maybe a relative from my grandmother's side. He can't be a Peacecraft."

"Why not?"

"It looks like he is wearing a uniform of sorts. My family has always been pacifistic, no one ever enrolled into the military."

"He could have been a sailor," Wufei pointed out. "They were wearing uniforms even on civilian ships."

"That's true." Milliardo admitted as he studied the paining closely. The young man was quite handsome, and probably only a little older than him. The painter had done a wonderful job catching the highlights in his hair, his high cheekbones and his rather unique eyebrows. But what fascinated Milliardo most was the color of his eyes, so deep and piercing. _It's like he is looking directly at me. I can almost feel those eyes studying me. I wonder who he was._

"What else is in that trunk?" he asked as he set the painting aside very carefully.

"Hmmm…" Duo reached out to push aside a layer of old bunched-up newspapers that probably were meant to protect the content of the chest. That and the fact that the box trunk had been locked, seemed to indicate that it was filled with someone's very precious possessions. Beneath the paper he found a small leather-bound book. The very moment the young man's fingertips touched the soft leather binding he felt a gust of cold air pass over him. He picked the book up and turned his head. "Wufei, close that window, it's freezing outside."

Wufei gave his friend a strange look. "What the heck are you talking about? The window is closed. Look at it; it's not even possible to open it."

"Weird. I could have sworn I just felt some cold wind."

"You are imagining things." Wufei snorted. "So, what do you got there?"

"I'm not sure. Looks like a notebook or maybe a diary of sorts. But it's locked." He turned the book onto its side to show his friend the tiny latch and silvery lock that was holding it closed. But at the very moment as he did so the lock disengaged with a soft clicking sound and the diary open up on him." Wow!" Startled Duo almost dropped the book.

"What now?" his friend asked.

"The lock…it just opened by itself."

"Yeah right." Wufei nearly rolled his eyes. He had been tricked one too many times by his friend to believe this kind of stuff.

"But I swear I didn't do anything. I never even touched it." Duo insisted.

In the background Milliardo chuckled. "Maybe it was the ghost."

"G…ghost?" Duo's head snapped around.

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T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	3. Chapter 3

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**The Portrait**

**Part 3**

"G…Ghost?!"

"Yeah," Milliardo confirmed with a slight grin. "My grandmother used to tell us about it all the time when we were kids. How the house, and especially this attic is haunted. She heard about it from my grandfather who got it from his parents. Her stories seemed rather convincing too."

"What kind of ghost? I mean did she ever mention if it was vengeful or just…"

"Come on, Maxwell, you don't really believe in that kind of stuff, do you?" Wufei snorted. "The old woman was probably just trying to keep the kids out of the attic."

Duo didn't seem convinced. "Laugh if you want," he told his friend. "But I happen to believe that there are more things between heaven and earth than you and I will ever know. Ghosts are usually restless spirits that didn't move on after they died; mostly because they had some unfinished business. Could it be that someone died in this house?"

"Maxwell!" Wufei shook his head. "Back in the olden days most people died at home. So if you look at any house old enough, you will probably find that some time in the past someone died there."

"I'll have to go with Wufei on that one." Milliardo remarked. "I was really only joking you know. I didn't take my grandma's ramblings about a ghost serious when I was six and I'm not going to start now."

"Whatever you say!" Duo shrugged, but not without a long cautious look around.

"So, who's diary is that anyway?" the blonde wanted to know.

"I'm not sure…." Cracking the little book open, Duo picked a random page and checked when the entry was dated. "May 17th, 1889. I think that's what it say's; my cursive is a little rusty. That means it can't be your grandma's unless she was keeping a journal before she was born."

"Well I guess everything in that box belonged to your great-grandparents," Wufei assumed. "They lived here too, didn't they?"

"Yes, I believe they originally bought or inherited the house somehow."

"My daily walks to Whitten Park have become quite a bit more enjoyable of late, since I have been crossing paths with a most dashing and handsome young gentleman. Like clockwork he has been walking his dog in the park at half past three for the past four days now. I have been tempted to approach him and strike a conversation, but I just can not seem to find the courage to do so. Perhaps tomorrow I shall borrow Miss Rutherford's Poodle, and dare hope he might notice us and introduce himself…."

"…you go girl," Duo chuckled after reading that passage from the diary. "Milliardo, your great-grandmother seems to have been one smart girl. And I always thought using puppies to pick up chicks was a 21st century thing."

"Apparently not," Milliardo grinned. "And it seems to work the other way around as well."

"Hmm…I wonder if that guy ever noticed her," the other youth added.

"He would have to be blind not to," Wufei remarked. "Judging from her wedding painting she was a beautiful young woman. What do you think, could it be that the young man she met turned out to be her future husband?"

"Let's see if we can find out." Duo settled down on one of the old couches and turned the page to the next entry in the journal.

"May 20th 1898

Three days of rain; I swear it felt more like mid-October than May. But at least the weather changed in time for the weekend. Best of all, I met him again, at Church on Sunday. How fortunate that I decided to visit the early morning Mass this week.  
He was sitting on the other side of the aisle, wearing a most elegant and stylish coat that matched the lights in his hair. A beautiful dark red rose adored its lapel. From the smile and the nod he greeted me with, I could tell that our chance encounters at the park had not gone unnoticed, after all.

After the sermon I asked Father Darrel to introduce us, and so I finally learned his name; Alexander, Alexander Khushrenada. A most befitting name, I reckon. He does strike me as someone who could conquer anything he sets his eye on.

He asked if he could walk me home, an offer which I was only too happy to accept. He is such a delightfully charming man, and so well spoken. Unfortunately the walk was far too short. But before we parted in front of the house, he implied that was interested in seeing me again. Perhaps, he suggested, we could meet for tea some day in the near future…"

"Man, and here I thought dating **these** days was complicated." Duo gave a sarcastic huff.

"So, it's not your great-grandfather after all," his friend added as he looked at Milliardo questioningly. "Any idea who that guy was?"

"Never heard the name before," Milliardo shrugged. "But hey, even back then people dated, right? They didn't just marry the first person they had a crush on. So there might have been dozens of 'handsome gentlemen' in my great-grandmother's life before her husband came along."

"True, I suppose."

Meanwhile Duo had started to thumb through the journal, skimming over a few passages here and there. "Well, well, they **did** meet again," he grinned, "and not just for tea if I might add."

"Okay, I think that's enough." Milliardo reached out and pulled the journal from Duo's hands.

"Aww, come on," the younger man complained. "It was just getting interesting."

"Have you ever heard of words like 'privacy' or 'personal'?" The blonde closed the book and set it aside. "Besides, I think it's time to call it a day." He stifled a yawn. "I need to get some sleep; have to work again tonight. I'll help you take down the stuff we put aside for the junk. As for the rest I'll talk to my parents about. Don't worry; I'll make sure they'll pay you if you have to come back."

"So you still talk to them? I thought you and your parents are on the warpath." Duo remarked.

"I see the rumor mill is still working strong," Milliardo laughed, but it didn't sound amused at all.

"Are you saying it's not true?"

"Which part?"

"That you are gay and that they threw you out of the house because of it."

"The first…" Milliardo glared at the younger man, "is really none of your business. But I assure you that my leaving home had nothing to do with my sexual orientation. Maxwell, you should know better than most how Marymount feels about male students wearing their hair long."

"Um… yeah, they went on and on about it when I enrolled." Duo confirmed.

"It was even worse back when I started school. They even sent a letter to my parents threatening to expel me if I wouldn't cut my hair. When I told my father that I wouldn't do it he gave me the famous 'as long as you live under my roof' speech. So I told him I'd look for a different roof to live under then. And that's all there is to the story."

"But what about Marymount; they just gave in?"

"Well, even though he tried to put his foot down with me, father apparently made it pretty clear in front of the school board that if I had to leave Marymount, the half a million dollar in scholarship funds my family donates every year would leave as well."

Wufei snorted. "Principles are principles but money is money, huh?"

"Pretty much. Well then, let's get that truck of yours loaded."

#

"What is it?" Wufei asked as Milliardo rummaged through his pockets, apparently looking for something. "Can't find your car keys?"

The three young men had loaded Duo's truck and were just getting ready to leave.

"No," Milliardo shook his head. "I got my keys right here, but I have no idea what I did with my phone. Probably slipped out of my pocket when I was sitting down. These slacks are just not meant to carry stuff around in them," he shrugged.

"Maybe the ghost took it," Duo teased. "I bet yah, he is sitting up there right now ordering pizza and x-rated movies.

"Yeah right. I'd better go wrestle it away from him, before he starts making long-distance calls, too." The older youth grinned as he turned to head back inside.

"You want us to wait for you?"

"Nah, no need. Go ahead and take off. You still have to drive to the dump, after all. I'll catch you guys in school on Monday I guess."

"Alright, see yah."

The large white truck drove off as Milliardo unlocked the front door and walked into the house. He headed directly back upstairs to the attic, the only place he could have lost his cell phone. As he pushed up the wooden trap door he remembered that Duo had taken the flashlights with him. But at least the sun had moved and was shining directly through the little round window in the gable now, filling the attic with light and an almost golden glow.

The young man searched the couch he and his friend had been sitting on earlier, and sure enough the phone was hiding right in the crack between the two back sections. It must have slipped from his pocket just as he had expected. Just when he flipped it open to make sure he didn't miss any messages he heard a noise behind his back, more of a thump really, as though something had fallen to the ground. Startled Milliardo jerked around, letting out a deep breath when he realized that it was just the leather-bound journal that had slipped off the stack of photo albums he had put it on top.

As he bend down to pick the book up, it flipped open, caught in a sudden gust of wind. _Wow, Maxwell is right. It really is drafty up here!_ Milliardo looked up at the roof above him checking for missing shingles or large holes between them. _This house is getting old, no wonder it is starting to come apart. _

As he gazed down again his eyes caught the date on the page the diary had opened to and a soft smile curved his lips. _Look at that, it's my birthday – about 80 years before I was bor, of course. I wonder what Great-grandma was up to that day._

The young man flopped down on the sofa only to realize that it was a good two feet to short for him. _Either people were a lot shorter back then or catching a quick nap on the couch wasn't in style. And somehow elegance and comfort didn't seem to go hand in hand either. This thing doesn't feel much softer than a wooden board. I'll end up with a stiff back lying on it._

Still grumbling to himself, Milliardo suddenly remembered that there still was the leather couch in what used to be the entertainment room downstairs. _It has been ripped on one side, but I bet it is a whole lot more comfortable than this torture device._

After making sure that he still had his phone in his pocket this time, the young man grabbed a couple of pillows and the diary and climbed the stairs down to the ground floor. The small room on the west side had always been a little darker than the rest of the house, because the daylight was partially blocked by the neighboring building. _Maybe that's why Grandma used it as her entertainment room; it's perfect for watching TV, but not exactly ideal for reading. _

Making himself a mental note to get the electricity turned back on, Milliardo headed into the kitchen and started to search through the build in cabinets. In a drawer beneath the sink he found what he had been looking for, a box of candles and matches. Using the metal lid of an old coffee can as a base, he attached half a dozen white stick candles to it and lit them. With his makeshift lamp in hand, and very pleased with his resourcefulness, the young man went back into the entertainment room. He moved a small round end-table next to the couch to set the candles on, fluffed up his pillows and stretched out on the sofa. "Ah, much better," he muttered with a content sigh.

"June 13th 1898

Last night during supper Father started to ask questions about the gentleman I have been spending so much time with of late. In all honesty, I'm surprised he had not brought it up earlier. Father has always made a point of knowing the people I socialize with. It is too easy, he always says, for a young person these days to fall in with the wrong crowd.  
He asked me to invite Alexander for tea on Saturday, something I'm more than just a little nervous about."

Milliardo grinned as he turned a few pages in the diary. _Some things never change in this family I guess. My father too wanted always to know who I and Relena hang out with. Luckily he never went as far as to actually asking me to invite my friends over for tea._ _Now about Relena's dates, I'm not so sure. In any case, I wonder what Great-great-grandfather thought of the mysterious Alexander Khushrenada fellow. _

"June 16th 1898

Alexander's visit this afternoon turned out well, I reckon. Otherwise Father would have never agreed to letting me go on a two day trip to Newcastle with him, next week.  
Alexander arrived by carriage, a few minutes before four o'clock – punctuality is very important to Father. He brought the largest bouquet of flowers I had ever seen for the lady of the House and a box of fine cigars for my father. How he knew that Father fancies a good smoke after supper, I have no idea. We took tea in the parlor, and mother asked the maid to use the good china, the one we usually only eat of on holidays or other special occasions. Alexander was charming as always and he never stopped praising my mother's cooking skills, insisting that he just had to have the recipe for her Scones for his own cook.  
I knew the question would come up eventually, and as expected Father was not pleased when he learned that Alexander served as a Commander on a naval vessel. Father was a rather imposing figure who could be quite passionate about his believes in Pacifism. But Alexander didn't seem easily intimidated. After listening to my father patiently and politely he told him that he found his views quite fascinating, and that he agreed with most of them. But he was afraid the rest of the world might not be quite ready for such philosophies. I reckon he somehow managed to impress my father. And so, in the end when he asked for permission to take me with him to Newcastle, for a night at the opera and the opening of a new art gallery the day after, Father agreed with little hesitation.  
I cannot even begin to describe my excitement. In all my 17 years I have never traveled as far as Newcastle. From what I have heard the new railroad can take one there in less than 6 hours now. How amazing…"

Milliardo yawned and rubbed his face. _My eyes are burning. Maybe closing them for a while will help. I don't think I should drive like this right now._

As the young man settled into the pillows and closed his eyes his mind wandered back to the portrait of the handsome young man they had found in the trunk with the diary. _I wonder…could it be that he is actually Alexander? The man in the picture could be wearing a naval uniform. If so, what happened to him? Apparently Great grandmother cared enough about him to keep his portrait around even after she got married. So many questions… And those eyes, they felt almost real, like he was looking straight at me…_

Before he realized it Milliardo drifted off into a deep sleep, never even feeling the rush of cool air that past over his body. Second later the candles on the table died, as though someone had blown them out.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for all the reviews I have been getting for this story.

**Madampeach: **"_In the past I've read too many stories that don't include all the guys so I didn't figure this fic would be one I would find interesting."_

Actually most of my stories include most the GW characters; sometimes it just takes a while before they make an appearance. In this one Milliardo is clearly the main character but Duo and Wufei will keep popping up.

**Anonymous:** "_So if I'm reading this right, Millardo's birthday is June 13th. I getcha"_

OMG, I swear I did not even realize that intentionally. I picked those dates purely by chance, but I guess the mind works in mysterious ways :)

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 4**

"Octavian…Octavian!"

As Milliardo looked up he stood right in front of him, the man from the portrait. He was not in uniform, but wearing a light overcoat over a dark grey cashmere suit, yet there was no doubt that it was him. He smiled softly as he looked at the younger man, his eyes as blue and piercing as in the painting.

"I have been waiting for you, Octavian. It has been a long time."

Milliardo tried to speak; tell the man that his name was not Octavian, but somehow he felt paralyzed and could not even open his mouth. So he just stood there, staring back at the man who seemed to confuse him with someone else.

Suddenly the image before him started to fade like an apparition or mirage; Milliardo woke with a start and somewhat disoriented. He sat up and looked around, slowly recognizing his surroundings and remembering what had happened.

_What a dream. _The young man swung his legs over the side of the couch and blinked away the last traces of sleepiness. _How long have I been sleeping anyway? _He briefly gazed at his watch. _Wow, almost noon. I'd better get home, get myself a shower and some real sleep before I have to get ready for work again. _

When his eyes fell onto the candles on the table Milliardo frowned slightly. He could for the world of it not remember if he blew them out before he fell asleep or not. _I guess I must have._ The young man shrugged as he rose to his feet and stretched. He picked up the diary that had slipped to the floor while he was sleeping, and for a moment he considered taking it with him and continue to read it at home. But for some reason it didn't feel right and so he changed his mind and set the journal down on the little table, next to his makeshift candle holder before he left the house.

###

Milliardo frowned slightly as he turned off his car. After work he had stopped to grab some coffee and a couple of breakfast burritos, and then without even thinking, he ended up making the short de-tour to Kensington plaza instead of driving directly to his apartment.

"Well, since I'm here already, I might as well go inside," he mumbled to himself as he climbed out of the car and grabbed his breakfast. Juggling a 20 ounce latte and a bag of burritos, while trying to wrestle with the old door-lock, proofed a little difficult, but he somehow managed.

Last night at work is mind kept drifting back to his strange dream, the mysterious painting and most of all the diary entries. Something had bothered him about it, to the point that he almost instinctively came back to this place.

_Even today, there would be no way that my father would let Relena go on an overnight trip with some guy she just met a few weeks ago. Oh hell, it wouldn't matter even if she knew the guy all her life. But back then, from what I know about etiquette and social rules, no unmarried woman would accompany a man who wasn't a close relative, without a chaperon. I should have noticed it right away. But I guess I was just so tired I couldn't even think straight. _

Milliardo walked into the entertainment room and set his breakfast down on the small table, next to the leather bound diary. He dropped onto the couch with a sigh of relief. His feet felt like lead after a long night at work, and he felt inclined to kick off his shoes, but reminded himself that if he made himself too comfortable he might end up conking out again like the day before.

He reached for the matches to light the candles and it wasn't until he looked up again, that Milliardo noticed something strange. On the wall over the small fireplace, where there was nothing but empty space yesterday, hung now a painting; not just any painting but the portrait of the blue-eyed stranger they had found in the attic.

_How…_ Milliardo's brows knitted. _Hmm…I guess the guys came back yesterday after I left, or maybe Relena. Yeah I can see her putting that picture up there. I'll ask her when see her in school tomorrow._

A low growl in the pit of his stomach reminded the young man that he still hadn't touched his breakfast, and he finally unwrapped the first burrito filled with scrambled egg, sausage and cheese and took a big bite. As he reached for his coffee his gaze wandered once more to the portrait over the fireplace. A few thin rays of sunlight that made their way through the window fell onto the picture, painting little streaks of gold into the young man's hair. _He looks stunning…and he seems very well aware of it. _

His eyes still on the painting, Milliardo's hand searched for his coffee blindly, but somehow he miscalculated and ended up knocking the large paper cup over. Startled the young man reached out, trying to grab the diary before the hot liquid could spill onto it. But before his fingertips even reached the book, it suddenly moved by itself, just far enough to avoid the disaster.

Milliardo froze. _Im…Impossible. _He swallowed, mouth suddenly gone dry, and raised his hand to rub his eyes, convinced that his mind had played a trick on him just now. How could the book have moved by itself? There had to be some kind of logical explanation. _The table is probably tilted and unstable and when I knocked the coffee over it shook and that caused the diary to slide to one side. Yes, that has to be it, _the young man told himself. Still, he had trouble keeping his hand from shaking when he slowly reached for the journal.

There was really only one thing he wanted to confirm; the identity of the diary's owner. After a brief moment of hesitation he checked first the front than the back of the book. And sure enough, on the end paper, printed in the same elegant and fluid handwriting as the rest of the journal, was the name Octavian T. Peacecraft.

_In my dream he called me Octavian. And since dreams are created by our subconscious, I guess somehow I already knew…_

###

Most of the on campus living students used the large cafeteria near the dorms not only as a place to get their meals, but also as a kind of common area to hang out with friends, play games or do homework when the library was too crowded. So it was no coincidence that Milliardo checked the place first when he was looking for Maxwell and Wufei after classes on Monday.

Sure enough, the two freshmen were sitting at a table in the back of the room playing cards with a third guy; Milliardo didn't even remember his name.

Duo looked up when the tall, young man approached and gave him a grin. "Hey, Milliardo, wanna join us?"

With a look at the pile of pennies in the middle of the table the older youth huffed. "Not until you grow up and start playing for real money." He tapped the third kid on the shoulder. "Hey you," he told him as he pulled a ten dollar bill from his pocket. "Get me a Green Tea latte, will you? Get yourself something, too."

"But the coffee shop is all the way down by the library."

"I know. Take your time."

As the young man put down his cards and shuffled off, Milliardo turned one of the empty chairs around, straddled it and rested his crossed arms on the back.

"You know, you could have just told him to 'take a hike' instead of having him run all the way to the coffee shop," Wufei told him.

"Now that would have been rude, wouldn't it? Besides, I really do want that Latte. Say, did you guys go back to the house later on Saturday?"

Duo shook his head. "No, why wouldn't we? But Wufei here did some research…Tell him Wu."

Milliardo looked at the young man curiously. "Oh?!"

"Yeah. That painting, the man we couldn't identify, the library's historic section has some information on him," the Chinese youth explained. "Turns out, he once owned that house. And now hear this; his name was Alexander…Alexander Khushrenada. He was…"

"…my great grandfather's lover." Milliardo completed the sentence. "You see, I have done some research, too."

"Your…great…grandfather?" Duo seemed to have a hard time wrapping his brain around the idea.

"We assumed that the diary we found belonged to my great grandma. But in reality, it was her husband's. I guess that explains why the trunk was kept under lock and key."

"But wait, we got more."

"More?" the blonde echoed.

Duo nodded. "Mister, I don't believe in ghosts, here found another interesting piece of news."

"I still don't believe in ghosts," Wufei huffed with a glare at his friend. "At least not in the way most westerners do; poltergeists, possessions and other superstitions fed by an eager media. However, I do believe in ancestral spirits that occasionally can get lost on their way into the afterlife. In any case, according to old newspaper bits and pieces I found from back then, Commander Alexander Khushrenada; he served indeed in the navy aboard a vessel that escorted merchant ships between Europe and the new world, died on September 21st 1902…"

"That's…the day my great grandparents were married," Milliardo realized.

"Unfortunately I could not find any more information beyond that. The city library might have a larger collection of old newspapers, might be worth checking."

"Do you think…," Duo lowered his voice, "that maybe there really is a ghost in the house? It was HIS house after all. Maybe that's where he died."

Milliardo didn't answer. In his mind he was replaying all the things that had happened since they discovered the portrait in the attic, the diary's lock opening on its own according to Maxwell… the gusts of cold air although all the windows were closed… the painting showing up downstairs and yet Relena and his friends claimed not to have been put it there … and the diary moving apparently on its own… Were those just strange coincidences, or could there possible be more to it? _The idea of his spirit haunting the house seems difficult to believe, but maybe Maxwell is right, maybe there are things between Haven and Earth we are not meant to understand._

###

Moments after ringing the doorbell Milliardo could hear the sound of familiar footsteps on the marble flooring, just before Paigan opened the door.

"Master Milliardo," the old man gave him a friendly smile. "It's nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you, too. Is Father home already?" Milliardo asked, but before the butler could answer his father stepped out of the downstairs office, dressed in a dark-gray house-suit, his eyes glued on a stack of letters he was sorting through.

"Who is it, Paigan?"

"It's the young master, Sir."

"Milliardo?!" The other man finally looked up. "Since when do you ring the doorbell?"

"Since I left the keys in my car in the driveway." His son grinned sheepishly.

"Thanks Paigan."

With a silent nod the old man retreated, leaving father and son to talk privately.

"You will be staying for dinner? Your mother is making Beef Stroganoff."

"Ah, that's what smells so good. Yeah, I'll stay." Milliardo nodded. "But first I was wondering if I can use your study for a while?"

"My study?" the older man echoed.

"That's where you keep all the old family records and photo albums, isn't it?"

"Are you looking for something specific?"

"No, not really." Milliardo lied. "It's for a report I am working on for my history class. Since our family has been living here in town for so many generations I thought there might be interesting facts in our genealogy."

"Good idea. There probably are," his father agreed. "Use whatever you need, but make sure to put everything back exactly where you found it. I have started scanning some of those files and photos onto my computer and if they are out of order I won't know where I left off."

"Of course," the young man nodded. "I'll probably use the computer too; email the stuff that I find interesting to myself."

"No problem, but…make sure to say hello to your mother first."

#

"Who is that?"

Milliardo nearly jumped when his sister suddenly leaned over his shoulder to get a better look at the old faded photograph he was holding. He had been so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't even hear her enter the room. His father's desk was littered with photographs and old documents; marriage licenses, birth and death certificates.

"Geez Lena, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Sorry," she laughed. "Mom told me to get you. Dinner is ready. What are you doing anyway?"

"Just looking through some old family stuff," her brother replied evasively.

"So, who is the guy in the photo?" she repeated.

"That… is our Great Grandfather Octavian."

"Really? He looks a lot like you."

"Yeah," Milliardo confirmed quietly. "He and I seem to have a few things in common. Tell mom I'll be there in a minute."

#

"So, what is it you are doing; writing a paper on the Peacecrafts?" his mother asked as Milliardo joined the rest of the family at the table.

"No, nothing like that, just some research for a history project," the young man lied.

"And, did you find anything useful?" his father wanted to know. "Thanks Relena." He took a freshly baked roll from the breadbasket before passing it on to his son.

"Yes, I did. A lot of great photos and documents," Milliardo nodded. "I still have to scan a few more, though."

"You know where you might find even more photos, at grandma's old house. She used to keep anything and everything."

The young man looked at his mother with a soft grin. "Yes, so I've noticed. And since you are bringing it up…" His gaze wandered to the other side of the table. "Dad, why do you want to sell that house anyway? I mean, it has been in the family for several generations from what I understand."

"Because it has been standing empty since almost three years now, but I keep paying property taxes on it. Relena made it already clear that she had no intention on living in that part of town after she graduates, and you have your own apartment already."

"The house it closer to school than my apartment, though. I have been there a few times lately and it really isn't a bad place."

"The house is almost a hundred-fifty years old, and it hasn't been maintained very well for the past fifty or so," his father pointed out.

"I know," Milliardo nodded. "But If I'd take the money that I'm spending on rent right now and put it into improvements I could have it fixed up again in no time. I could do most of the stuff myself; I think it would be fun."

His father looked at him, a slight frown on his forehead. "Are you trying to tell us you want to move there?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I'm thinking about it. So, for the time being could you please put the sale on hold?"

"I'll call the realtor first thing tomorrow morning," the older man promised, "but under one condition. I'll have an independent inspector check the house. If there is any structural damage or anything that would proof to costly to fix, the place goes back on the market."

"Fair enough," Milliardo agreed. "Say, Dad, do you know when and how our family bought that house?"

"Not the exact date, no. But I know one of your ancestors inherited it from someone outside the family."

"Great grandfather Octavian, right?"

"Umm, yes. How did you know?"

"Something I came across in my research, but I wasn't sure."

With that the conversation died down and after a few minutes of silence they talked about Relena's upcoming debutant ball and school in general. Finally while they were waiting for dessert to be served the elder Peacecraft looked firmly at his son.

"There is something else I want to talk to you about, Milliardo."

"Yes?" the young man looked at his father questioningly as he reached for his glass of iced tea. "What about?"

"The other day I went to that place you work at. Son, I really don't think that is the right way for you to make money."

Milliardo coughed, nearly choking on his tea, and exchanged a stunned gaze with his sister. "You went **where**?"

"To that…what is it called…Internet Café? I wouldn't exactly call it a café, though. What exactly is it you do there, sit around and watch people play games where they kill each other over the internet?"

"That's not exactly all people do there." Milliardo breathed a silent sigh of relief as he exchanged another look with Relena who was trying hard not to burst out into laughter. She was the only one in the family who knew that he wasn't working at the café anymore. "Many of them are students who come there to do their homework or research when the campus library computers are occupied."

"That's not exactly the point. I want you to come and work at the office for me. I can be flexible with the hours so that there will be no problems with your class schedule, and I'll pay you more than you will ever make at this …internet place. Besides, it might be a good experience for you to get a look into the family business…"

"Dad!" Milliardo raised his hand to stop him. "Hold it right there. We talked about that before, many many times. Relena is the business major, not me. I have no intention to ever take over the family business."

"Are you just being stubborn or…"

"Alright, alright," his mother finally intervened. "I want to hear no more of that. You know the rules; we don't talk shop at the table. Now let's find something else to talk about, shall we?"

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	5. Chapter 5

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 5**

Milliardo flipped the last circuit breaker and closed the box on the outside of the house with a satisfied nod. "This should do it," he mumbled to himself as he replaced the little padlock that secured the breaker box – After all this was a college neighborhood now, and "Play Pranks on Thy Neighbor" had always been one of the commandments in the holy book of higher education.

When he walked back into the house, the young man pushed the light switch near the front door, and the lamp above his head came to life instantly. _Excellent, now at least I won't have to run around with candles anymore, _Milliardo thought. He had called the DWP the day before and they assured him that water and gas would be turned back on first thing in the morning.

The young man checked his watch as he walked into the kitchen where he had put a box and several large shopping bags earlier when he arrived. He had asked Duo and Wufei to meet him here at noon, to help him move some furniture down from the attic, but had come earlier himself, to take care of a few other things beforehand.

He cleaned out one of the cabinets and started to unpack his shopping bags. He had bought snacks, several microwavable meals that didn't need refrigeration, a large can of coffee and last but not least a couple six-packs of beer which he stored in a large bucket covered with ice. There were plenty of light bulbs to replace the ones that were burned out or broken all over the house, and in the box was a coffeemaker, just a cheap one he had bought on sale. It would have to do until he decided if he really wanted to move into this place or not.

He wasn't lying when he told his father that he was starting to like the house, and the more time he had been spending here the more it felt like home already. Checking his watch again after he had put away the last of his groceries, Milliardo realized that he still had a good half an hour before his friends were due to arrive. He grabbed an armful of light bulbs and started to make his way through the house, beginning upstairs. When he finally reached the entertainment room his eyes, as always, were drawn to the portrait above the fireplace. He still didn't know as much as he would have liked about the young man in the painting, but he knew a lot more now than he had only a week ago. The same could also be said about his great grandfather. Reading the diary had given him a glimpse into a period of their lives in almost intimate detail, and made him feel like he had known them for a long time. Perhaps it was because he could easily identify with the two young men, that their story fascinated him so much. Of course, he already knew that there was no happy ending to their star-crossed love, but he still wasn't sure what actually happened.

According to the diary, it was during their trip to Newcastle, that Alexander first indicated that he was interested in more than just a platonic relationship with Octavian. From there on bond between them grew rapidly, and they spent almost every waking hour together. Which wasn't surprising, considering that Alexander's shore leave ended three weeks later, and the two lovers wouldn't see one another for more than two months. During those times when he was at sea, Octavian often wrote about how much he missed Alexander's company, and that the letters he received regularly couldn't make up for his lover's warm embraces and gentle kisses. But he also talked about how difficult it was not to be able to speak to anyone about the one he loved and their relationship. Those things were hard enough today; Milliardo could only imagine how much more difficult it must have been for Alexander and Octavian. If someone would have found out, Alexander would have lost everything, his rank and navy commission, his social status… and could have easily ended up in prison. And Octavian…?! Milliardo didn't even want to begin to imagine how his family would have reacted.

Milliardo was still studying the painting, lost in thought, when he suddenly felt like someone was standing behind him. His first thought was that Duo was trying to sneak up to scare him, but when he turned around there was no one there. Yet, the feeling that he wasn't alone remained. The young man swallowed.

"Alexander?!" he asked quietly, not sure what kind of response he actually expected.

Milliardo sensed the aura slowly shift, then a soft breeze ran through his hair, almost like a gentle touch. His mouth went dry and he could feel the hair in the back of the neck rise, but he was more in awe than frightened. Somehow he knew that Alexander wasn't out to harm him. If he was vengeful he would have settled his scores a long time ago. But his grandmother had lived with her ghostly housemate for many years even after her husband died, and it never seemed to have bothered her. And as for the stories she had told him and Relena when they were children; she probably wasn't trying to frighten them, but rather keep them from bothering him.

_Still, this might take a little getting used to. _The young man shook his head, trying to clear his mind. _Alright now, I still have things to do. Duo and Wufei will be here soon. _His gaze went up to the ceiling. The lamp fixture had been long removed and all that was left now was an empty socket dangling on a foot long wire, too high for him to reach without a ladder or stepstool. Milliardo looked around for something that would support his weight; the little round table didn't look sturdy enough and the couch was too heavy to move on his own.

Suddenly the young man felt a soft tug on his hand as the light bulb was pulled from his fingers. It seemed to hover in midair before it moved upward toward the ceiling. Wide-eyed and slack-yawed he watched the bulb was twisted slowly into the socket by an invisible hand. Moments later there was a soft click of the light switch being pushed and the makeshift lamp flickered to life.

Milliardo swallowed and somehow managed a wry grin. "Of course, you had to wait till the last light bulb to show me that trick." _Alright, so it will take __**a lot**__ of getting used to._

#

"Milliardo, you here?" Duo peeked cautiously through the half-open front door.

"Come in, Maxwell. All the way back here, third door on the left."

Following the sound of his friend's voice the youth ended up in a relatively small room at the end of the hall. "I see you got the lights back on," he greeted Milliardo.

"Yeah, gas too." The other youth nodded. "Are you alone?"

"Wufei is running late, he was tutoring someone this morning and missed the bus back. He called me and told me to go ahead already; he will take the E-line and come directly here."

"Alright no problem."

"If there is anything that's not too heavy we can start moving it already without him." Duo suggested. "I see you have gotten cozy already." As he looked around his eyes caught the diary on the table. "You have been reading more of it."

"I thought it might help me to learn more about my great grandfather and his lover."

"Says the man who lectured me about privacy," the young man grinned. "Admit it, you were just hoping for some juicy details."

"Grow up, Maxwell." Milliardo huffed and rolled his eyes.

"So," Duo asked with a gesture at the painting over the fireplace. "Did you find out anything new about mysterious Mister Khushrenada here?"

"Duke Khushrenada," the other youth corrected.

"Huh?"

"That's the title he was holding, but I'm not sure if people would call him that or refer to him by his naval rank."

"So he was a real blue-blooded aristocrat, huh?" Duo stepped toward the painting, crooked his head as he studied it for a few moments, then turned back toward his friend. "Come to think of, your family descended from nobility too, right? What happened?"

"What do you mean?" Milliardo frowned slightly.

"To the title I mean."

"Oh, I guess someone, maybe my grandfather, decided it wasn't 'fashionable' anymore and dropped it." The young man shrugged. "So, are we going to sit here and talk family history or are we actually going to move some furniture?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"There is a TV in the back of my car. We can carry that inside already and then there might be a few smaller things in the attic. I also want to take one of the bed frames and mattresses down, but those are heavy so we will wait for Wufei with them."

"Sounds good." Duo nodded. "Well, what are you sitting there for? By the way, you still haven't told me what else you have found out."

"Not much," Milliardo admitted as the two young men walked out to the car. "I went to the local library the other day like Wufei suggested and checked their newspaper records. Surprisingly every paper in town reported about my great grandparents wedding but Alexander's death was barely mentioned. He apparently did die that very same day, but there is no word about how; only that his body was found late that evening by one of his servants."

"And THIS used to be his house, right?" his friend took a cautious look back over his shoulder. "So, he did die somewhere in there. And then your great grandparents moved into the place. That's creepy."

Milliardo shrugged as he opened the backdoor on his car. "Like Wufei said, a person dying at home wasn't that unusual at those times. Besides, it wasn't like he died of the plague or something."

"Hey, we don't know that." Duo pointed out.

"Well, it's pretty safe to assume he didn't, considering that no one in my family got sick. Now, give me a hand here."

The TV was only 29 inches, but it was bulky and the two men had a hard time getting a good grip on it.

"Got it." Duo finally announced.

"Me too," his friend confirmed. "Let's move it to the room we were just in. Do you want me to walk backwards?"

"No, that's fine. Let's just do it."

With Milliardo directing the other youth they made it from the car to the entrance and up the three steps to the front door.

"Damn it!" Duo cursed quietly as he peeked over his shoulder and realized that the door had closed behind them. There was no way that he could unlock and open it without having to set down the TV. "Where is Wufei when you need him? I just got such a good grip…" he swallowed the rest of the sentence when he heard the lock give away with a sharp click just before the door swung open.

"Di…did you see that just now? The door…it just opened on its own. Just like the diary the other day..." he stammered in a mixture of awe and shock. "I swear I didn't even touch it… I…"

"Maxwell, will you stop worrying about that f-ing door and move? This thing is heavy." Milliardo snapped at him.

#

"Are you serious? So it is really true?" Duo couldn't have looked more staggered if his friend had suddenly sprouted a second head. "He is still around…even now?"

After they had moved the TV into the entertainment room, Milliardo decided that it was only fair to tell the other youth about what had happened earlier.

"Yes," he confirmed. "He is here, somewhere."

"Wow, that's just…. I… can't believe it."

"Can't believe what, Maxwell?" Wufei asked as he walked into the room. "You guys know, you left the front door open?"

"Oh, yeah. We'd just carried something into the house and didn't have a hand free." Milliardo nodded.

"Sorry I'm late. Stupid transit system; why do they even have a schedule, if they never keep it?

"Don't worry about it."

"Wu, you won't believe what Milliardo told me."

"What?" Wufei looked at the older youth questioningly, leaving him no choice but to tell the whole story again.

Considering that he insisted on not believing in ghosts, Wufei seemed a lot less unruffled by it then Duo. _But then again, he did say he believes in ancestral spirits; I wonder how he distinguishes between the two anyway, _Milliardo thought.

"Were you able to find out anything else about how he died?" his friend wanted to know. "That could be the key to why he still hasn't moved on."

"Not really."

"What about the diary?" Duo asked. "Your great-grandfather didn't mention anything either?"

"I…haven't gotten that far yet. It's kind of hard to read on," the older youth admitted.

His friend nodded understandingly. "Like reading a book that you know will end badly."

"Only in this case the main characters aren't just the product of someone's imagination. Even though they used to live a hundred years ago, after reading about them they have become very real for me. I feel like I know them and understand them. I know they were happy together, if only for a short time in their lives…" Milliardo trailed off, then cleared his throat. "Alright, let's get moving, shall we?"

Wufei and Duo nodded in agreement. They followed their friend up into the attic where he pointed out the pieces of furniture that he wanted to move downstairs.

"The iron bed frame isn't as heavy as it looks, I checked it out earlier. But the mattress is kind of bulky. It will probably be best if we put it sideways and slide it down the stairs. With two of you taking the front and I'll be in back making sure it doesn't move too fast. Other than that I just need a couple of chairs and one of the smaller tables for the kitchen and maybe one of the nightstands."

"So you are really going to live here?" Wufei asked as he tried to pull the bed's headboard free from behind a large chest of drawers.

"I have already been spending a lot of time here, might as well stay a night or two before I decide if I want to move in for good. I really like this place; I don't know why I didn't realize it sooner. It's so much larger than my little apartment and closer to school. If I wanted I could probably easily find a housemate, too."

"You already have one…remember." Duo pointed out.

"Yeah," Milliardo laughed. "But I was thinking more of someone who can pitch in on the repairs that need to be done."

"Duo, give me a hand with this dresser," Wufei demanded. "I can't get the headboard out without moving it."

"Move it where?"

"Just over there to the other side of the wall." The young man gestured at a free spot near the window and his friend nodded in acknowledgement.

But when they tried to pick the dresser up they realized that it was a lot heavier than it looked.

"Wow, I forgot that they used to make furniture from real wood. There is no way we can carry that thing."

"Need a hand?" Milliardo asked.

"There isn't enough room for all three of us. Maybe if we just remove the drawers that will make it light enough," Duo suggested, and instantly started to pull them out. The first three came out without any problem, and the young man handed them off to his friend who set them aside. The last drawer however, on the very bottom, only opened about three quarter and then wouldn't budge, no matter how hard Duo pulled and tugged.

"Careful Maxwell," Milliardo warned. "Don't break it."

"Don't worry, I don't think I could, even if I tried," his friend grinned. "Good old, solid workmanship. They don't make 'em like that anymore. It feels like there is something stuck under that thing."

Putting one of his feet against the dresser for leverage, he angled the front of the drawer upwards and gave it another try. This time, his effort paid off. And as the drawer slid out of the dresser case, nearly knocking Duo over in the process, so did what looked like a bundle of some kind of paper.

"Papers?" the young man frowned as the small package dropped to the floor.

"Letters," Wufei corrected and bent down to pick it up. "Looks like someone has been hiding them there."

Indeed, it was a small stack of a dozen or so letters, tied together by a black velvet ribbon.

"Doesn't look like the same handwriting as in the diary."

Duo was right. The handwriting was similar, yet clearly different, very elegant and smooth. And from what Milliardo could tell, as his friend handed him the bundle, at least the top letter was addressed to his great-grandfather.

"Do you think they are love-letters from…HIM?" Duo gestured vaguely around the room.

It made sense. Octavian had mentioned in his journal that he had been corresponding regularity with his lover when they were apart. And the fact that he hadn't destroyed the letters, even after he married and his lover had died, spoke volumes about his feelings for Alexander. _I wonder if great-grandma ever knew. _

"Are you going to read them?"

"I don't know. There is a reason those letters were hidden. And as much as I'd like to find out what happened, I think the two of them still deserve some degree of privacy."

"I guess so." Duo admitted.

###

"Thanks guys, I really appreciate all your help." Milliardo told his friends as he dropped them off in the parking lot outside the dorms. After moving the furniture, they hung out for a while. But since both Duo and Wufei had evening classes that night he had offered to drive them home around five.

"No problem whatsoever." Wufei assured him. "We will see you tomorrow. Thanks for the ride."

"Milliardo, are you sure you will be alright, staying alone overnight at that house?" Duo asked.

"I'll be fine. Besides, Maxwell…" the older youth grinned as shifted gears and released the brakes. "I **won't** be alone."

"Exactly my point!" Duo yelled after him.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note: I often listen to music when write, music helps me to get into the right 'mood'. I have certain songs I listen to when I work on certain stories, or sometimes certain chapters. My song for the Alexander Octavian relationship is 'Right here waiting,' by Brian Adams. It seems to have just the right ambiance. If you have the song, give it a try, listen to it.


	6. Chapter 6

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 6**

His towel-dried hair open and still damp from the shower he had just taken, Milliardo walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but his favorite pair of jogging pants. Their once black color had long faded to grey but they were warm, and comfortable; perfect to lounge in.

Whistling quietly, the young man rinsed his dishes and cleaned the counter where he had earlier cooked his dinner. When he was done he grabbed the last beer from his makeshift cooler and headed into the former entertainment room, which at the moment was more or less his den. He had lit the fireplace earlier, before taking his shower, and by now the room was cozy and filled with the crackling sounds of burning wood.

_Maybe I should forget about the bed and roll out my sleeping bag right here, in front of the fireplace, _Milliardo thought as he dropped onto the leather couch. Putting his beer bottle down on the little table, he picked up the remote control instead and turned on the TV, only to realize that with just an antenna on top of the roof he could only watch the most basic channels.

_How could you live like this, grandma? _He grimaced and made himself a mental note to call the cable company. When he put the remote down again his eyes caught the stack of letters that was now sitting neatly atop of the leather-bound diary. After a few minutes of hesitation the young man reached out slowly and picked them up. He studied the elegant handwriting for a brief moment, still unsure if he should open the bundle or not. Finally he looked up.

"Alexander," he asked quietly, "Would it be alright for me to read them?"

Of course there was no answer, at least not verbally. But instead the bow that was holding the velvet ribbon together ,came slowly apart and the ribbon fell away.

"I'll take that as a yes." Milliardo smiled softly. "Thank you."

Carefully he unfolded the first letter, pausing briefly to study the broken seal on its back. It was dry and cracked by now, but from what he still could see it depicted a sword as well as a rose, probably parts of the duke's code of arms.

The letter itself was written in the same flowing style as the address on the outside.

"My Dearest Octavian,

I hope this letter finds you well.

The Charger has barely left port and I am already missing you. The coming two months might very well turn out to be the longest of my life. I can only hope that thinking of you and the wonderful times we shared will make the time without you a bit more bearable.  
The photograph we had taken in Newcastle is sitting on the shelf in my cabin where I can see it when I lie in bed at night, thinking of you. Your smile is one of the new things that make this dreary place a little more cheerful.  
But enough of me; tell me what is new with you since I've left; I want to know everything. You have started that job at your fathers firm, you told me about, haven't you? How is that going for you? If that doesn't work out I could always ask your father to let me take you in as my cabin boy. What do you think? …"

Milliardo couldn't help but grin at that line. Apparently Alexander also had a good sense of humor. He finished reading the last paragraph, which consisted more or less of small talk, before folding the paper back up and opening another letter. This one was written a few weeks later. Milliardo assumed that the duke sent all the mail he had written while at sea, when his ship was docked at a port.

Alexander spoke of the weather being dreadful during the last leg of their journey, but at least the sun was shining and the wind had died down when The Charger reached its destination. He wrote:

"Peritas* was so eager to get his four paws onto solid ground, he jumped over board and swam to shore, even before we had completely set anchor. He caught up with me later that night at the tavern near the port. What does it say about my habits, when even my dog knows where to find me?"

_I'm not sure if I'm more surprised that he took his dog along on his travels, or that he had actually named him after the canine owned by his famous namesake._ Milliardo stifled a yawn as he gazed at his watch. _Almost midnight already? And I have a history lecture tomorrow morning, too. I'd better turn in. I can't afford falling asleep in class again._

The young man put down the letter and finished his beer with one last, long gulp. The wood in the fireplace was still burning brightly, and so he decided to follow his earlier idea of sleeping in this room. He took the empty beer bottle into the kitchen, and on the way back grabbed his sleeping bag and pillows from the bedroom. As he re-entered the room Milliardo turned off the ceiling lamp; the dancing flames in the fireplace cast enough light for him to find his way around. The sleeping bag was rolled out quickly, and moments later he slipped between its warm layers, stifling another yawn. With a content sigh he nestled his head into the soft pillow and whispered: "Good night, Alexander."

###

By morning the fire had burned itself out and there was a noticeable chill in the air. Milliardo pulled the sleeping bag tighter around his shoulders and hit the snooze button on his wristwatch…again. Another ten minutes more wouldn't make any difference. Besides, he was saving at least half an hour in traffic by not having to drive all the way from his apartment.

Just when he was almost about to doze off again the young man suddenly heard the soft sound of piano music coming from the attic. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. _I know that song; Grandma used to play it all the time. _Milliardo finally opened his eyes and yawned. Hands interlaced behind his head he lay there for a few more minutes listening to the music, before he finally crawled out of his bed. Shivering he pulled on a T-shirt and headed into the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker, then while it was brewing the young man disappeared into the bathroom.

A good half an hour later, Milliardo was drowning the rest of his breakfast with the last sip from his coffee cup, while he slipped his books and laptop into his backpack. He checked his watch and decided that he would have to wash the dishes when he got back after school.

Last night he had parked his car right out in front. As Milliardo unlocked the door and threw his bag into the backseat he looked up toward the house, and for a moment he could have sworn he saw the curtains move in the little window up in the attic. _He is watching me. Don't worry, Alexander. I'll come back, I promise._

###

Bored to tears, Milliardo played with his pencil and tried hard not to fall asleep as he listened to his professor's lecture on Early European history. How anyone could make the scientific revolution sound so dull was totally beyond him.

As he looked around he noticed that most of his classmates had their laptops open and appeared to be taking notes of some sort. Although, he very much questioned if those 'notes' had anything to do with the lecture.

_I probably could do something a little more productive, too, _he thought. As he pulled his computer from his backpack, a folded piece of paper slipped out along with it. Milliardo instantly recognized it as one of Alexander's letters. _It must have dropped from the table and into my bag this morning when I was cleaning up._

Quietly he unfolded the paper, and hid it from the teacher's view inside his laptop, so that he could read it without being noticed. The letter was sent several months after the ones he had read the night before; apparently on Alexander's next journey. He spoke about the passage and how much he missed Octavian, but also about a package from his lover, that was waiting for him when The Charger reached Southampton.

"I can't even begin to describe my delight when the Lieutenant delivering my post, handed me not only a letter from you, but a parcel as well. Imagine my surprise when I opened it to find a bottle of wine and a book. I have been meaning to buy "A Study in Scarlet**" ever since it was published. How did you know that if there is one thing I fancy even more than a good glass of Bordeaux, it is a good mystery?  
I'm touched, to say the least, that you remembered my birthday. Although three days late, I shall celebrate tonight, by savoring your wonderful presents. And I promise to thank you properly the next time we meet.

As always, my thoughts and prayers are with you. I'm counting the days until we will finally be together again.

Lovingly yours,

Alexander

After Milliardo finished reading the letter, his eyes searched for the date in the upper right corner. _He wrote it on March 18__th__, three days after his birthday. That would mean his birthday is…TODAY!_

"Mister Peacecraft!"

The young man almost jumped at the sound of his teacher's voice right behind his back.

"I suppose I should give you credit for staying awake through my class today. However, most of fellow classmates at least have the decency of pretending to pay attention. What is that you are reading anyway?"

Milliardo tried to close laptop but the professor was fast enough to snatch the letter before he could do so.

"Professor, you can't…," he started to protest.

"You can pick it up this afternoon in my office." Without sparing at look at the paper, the older man folded it up and slipped it into his coat pocket. "And now, Miss Myers would you please tell Mister Peacecraft here, what the rest of the class has been doing for the past 10 minutes?"

#

Bracing himself with one last deep breath, Milliardo finally knocked at the door to Professor Bonaparte's office.

"Yes?!"

The young man opened the door and popped his head into the room. The professor, seemingly absorbed in cleaning his desk, didn't even raise his head. "Professor?!"

"Mister Peacecraft," he finally looked at his student. "I take it you came to pick up **this**?" He pulled the still folded letter from his pocket and put it at the edge of the desk. "What was it anyway, that you found so much more interesting than my lecture."

"Umm…I'm working on some extra credit, a 'exploring our roots' kind of report."

"As admirable as that might be, Mister Peacecraft, I'd prefer you would do it on your own time, and not in my class."

"Yes,Sir. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"I know it won't," the professor nodded, "or at least in MY class it won't."

"Sir?" Milliardo asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Today was my last day of teaching. Starting tomorrow, I'll be enjoying my retirement."

"You are leaving? I don't remember you ever mentioning anything about that before."

"No, I didn't. I hate big good-byes and all the fuzz and humbug that come with it, that's why I asked the headmaster not to mention anything, either. And, Mister Peacecraft, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your mouth shut as well, for the rest of the day."

"Of course, Sir," the young man assured him. "But who will be taking over your classes?"

"As far as I know, come Monday a new history teacher will be joining the school, but I have never met him and I don't even remember his name."

"Umm…well, I'm sure you are busy. I'll be on my way then, if you don't mind." Milliardo said as he reached for his letter.

The professor had already gone back to what he was doing and seemed to have all but forgotten about his student's presence. Milliardo waited a few seconds and when he didn't receive an answer; he shrugged and let himself out.

###

Brows knitted in concentration, Milliardo studied the display case in the bakery section at the supermarket he had stopped on his way home from school. _So many choices._

"May I help you?"

He looked up and gave the young woman behind the counter a little smile. "Yes, I think I'll take one of those individual cakes, the little round ones." _That should be perfect,_ he figured. _After all, it's just supposed to be a gesture. It's not like he can eat it, anyway._

"And which one would you like?"

"Hmm…I'll take the cream cheese icing and the chocolate decorations."

"Would you like me to write anything on it?" she asked as he removed the little cake from the case.

"You can do that?"

"Yes, as long as it is only a few words."

"How about 'Happy Birthday'; would that work?"

"That should be fine. It will take me about ten, fifteen minutes, though. If you still have other things to buy you can come back when you are done."

"Thanks, I'll do that." Milliardo nodded. From the bakery the young man walked down to the floral department. If he thought that picking a cake had been difficult, things only got worse when he saw the selection of flowers.

_I know he loves roses, but I don't think that would be appropriate. I don't want to send the wrong message. How about an orchid, they are pretty and don't need much care. Or wait…aren't those…"_

"These are Hyacinths, aren't they?" he asked the man who was putting together flower arrangements behind the counter.

"Yes they are."

"Could I have the blue one there in the back?" He pointed at pot with a particularly colorful flower.

"Absolutely. Do you want me to wrap it up for you?"

"That won't be necessary, thanks." Once he had his flower Milliardo headed back to the bakery to pick up his cake, which was already in a clear plastic box and waiting for him.

_Two down, one more to go, _he thought with a soft smile. _Last stop, Bluestone Videos around the corner. _

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note:  
*Peritas was the name of Alexander the Great's dog. Not quite as famous as his stallion Bucephalus, he still made his way into the history books. As the story goes he saved Alexander's life by charging an attacking elephant. Later when Peritas died, Alexander named a city after him and put him to rest in a tomb at its gates.

**A Study in Scarlet was the first Sherlock Holmes novel published.


	7. Chapter 7

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 7**

Opening the front door very slowly to avoid any squeaking noise, Milliardo sneaked into the house on tiptoes. _Alright, this might be silly. Is it even possible to sneak up on a ghost?_ he wondered, as he made his way into the kitchen. Nevertheless, he had even parked his car all the way on the other side of the block just to make sure.

The young man moved the little cake out of its plastic case and onto a paper plate – since the only real dishes he had were still dirty from breakfast. He even had remembered to buy some candles; one had to do, the cake wasn't big enough for much more. After putting the hyacinth pot next to the cake and lighting the candle he smiled softly. _I wonder if he likes it._

"Alexander?!"

Milliardo could feel the rush of cold air that had become almost familiar now, and his smile widened. "Happy Birthday, Alexander! I am not quite sure how old you actually are, but I guess once you hit a hundred it doesn't matter anyway," he grinned. "Too bad you can't taste the cake; it's quite delicious. But…well, make a wish."

A brief moment passed before the candle flickered and died. Even though Milliardo couldn't see his ghostly housemate, he could almost feel his presence by his side. The hyacinth flower swayed slightly, perhaps from the gentle breeze coming through the open kitchen window, or maybe under someone's gentle touch.

"There is more," the young man announced. "I know you enjoy mysteries and you seemed to like the Sir Arthur Conon Doyle novel Octavian gave you, so I figured we could make it a movie evening, watch some Sherlock homes videos together… I assume you know what a movie is?" He started to unpack his last shopping bag, lining the movies up side by side on the table. "The Sign of Four…Terror by Night… The Hound of the Baskervilles…The woman in Green… That's all they had at the video store. Why don't you decide which ones you want to watch first, while I get everything ready?"

Milliardo actually had to rent a VCR, too, since most of the old movies hadn't made their way onto DVD yet. He disappeared into the other room to set up the machine and turn on the fireplace. By the time he returned into the kitchen, the videos had been moved around and put into a different order, starting with 'The Hound of the Baskervilles.' "I see you made your choice."

#

With a lazy yawn Milliardo stretched his limbs and pushed away his blanket when the credits started to run over the TV screen. They had watched three of the four movies already, stopping only once for him to make dinner.

"I'm afraid you will have to watch the last one on your own, Alexander," he said as he got up to replace the videotape. "I'm working tonight, so I'll have to leave soon to get ready. But I'll be back tomorrow morning, I promise."

The young man squatted down in front of the little dresser that served as TV stand, pressed the eject button on the VCR and waited for the tape to pop out. "I'll put the last tape in and get it started. It will turn off by itself when the movie is finished. As for the TV, I'll show you how to turn it off before I leave."

The last word had barely left his lips when the screen went black with a quiet click.

"Showoff," Milliardo gave an amused snort. "I guess you have been around long enough to pick up a few things here and there." He paused for a moment, starting down at his feet, and turned serious. "I'm not exactly sure what happened between you and Octavian and how things ended," his said, his voice somber and quiet. "But the one thing I do know is that he loved you very much, probably never stopped loving you till the day he died.

A gentle breeze ruffled Milliardo's hair, Alexander's way of saying 'thank you'. The young man cleared his throat as he finally rose to his feet.

"I really should be going, or I won't make it to work on time. You enjoy your movie."

###

"I swear, you look more handsome and beautiful, every time I come home, Octavian."

"I've told you before; you do not need to flatter me, Alexander."

Once again Milliardo found himself in the middle of a dream about Octavian and his lover; with him in the role of his great-grandfather. Or perhaps those weren't dreams after all, but rather Alexander's memories he was reliving.

"But I am not; I'm only observing. And right now, I'd swear I observe a bit of frustration in your voice." Suddenly he felt Alexander's fingers under my chin, raising his face up gently. "Would you care to talk to me about it?"

"I'm sorry, I got into another fight with Father this afternoon," he heard himself say.

"What was it about this time?"

"I really don't want to visit my problems on you, Alexander, and spoil what little time we have together."

"But I don't mind. Please talk to me, Dear."

"Father told me to cut my hair. He insists it doesn't go with business attire. I'd never be taken serious in the firm looking like this."

Alexander seemed shocked. "Your beautiful hair? But surely he can't be serious."

Ding dong….ding dong….

It took Milliardo a few moments to realize that the chiming sounds were not part of his dream but rather the sound of the doorbell. His eyes snapped open with a start. He blinked and gazed at his watch, cursing silently when he realized that he hadn't slept more than an hour.

"I'm coming!" the young man slipped a T-shirt over his head as he shuffled to the door. _It's Saturday morning, for god sake, this better not be some kind of pusher or salesman. _

"I'm awfully sorry to disturb you," the young man out on the front steps said, and Milliardo could only stare at him in complete disbelieve.

"Alexander?!" he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Indeed, aside from the fact that he was wearing 21st century clothing, the man standing before him looked like he had just stepped out of his grandmother's painting, all the way down to the tendrils of ginger-blond hair that had fallen onto his forhead.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You look like you have seen a ghost."

Milliardo shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "I'm…fine. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Oh, I really hope so," the man nodded. "I was wondering if I could use your phone. You see I left my briefcase in the taxi and didn't realize it until it was too late. Luckily the driver gave me this…" he showed Milliardo a little yellow and black business card, "before he drove off. I guess I got lucky; for a moment I was afraid nobody was living here."

"Well, technically nobody is."

"Oh?!" The stranger raised one eyebrow as he looked at him questioningly, and Milliardo realized how it might have sounded.

"Oh no, it's not like that. I'm not a squatter or anything," he assured the man quickly. "The house used to be my grandmother's, you see. But she passed away and my father was thinking of selling it, but it's been in the family for a long time and I kind of like the place, so I decided we should fix it up and keep it and…" _Why in the world am I telling him all this? _"Sorry, I'm rambling. I don't have the land line turned on yet, but you can use my cell phone. Why don't you come in, Mister…?"

" Khushrenada, Treize Khushrenada."

For the second time in a row Milliardo's yaw nearly dropped. _I don't believe it. _"Umm…this way, don't mind the disarray. Like I said, I'm still in the middle of getting things organized."

The other man looked around as he followed Milliardo into the kitchen. "It's a beautiful house."

"Thank you. That it is," the blond agreed. "Let me get the phone." He disappeared into the other room and was back in no time.

"There you go." He handed the device to his visitor then excused himself and left to give the man some privacy. When he returned a few minutes later Treize had already finished his call.

"Thank you so much."

"Any luck?" Milliardo asked.

"Yes and no, I guess. The driver found my bag, but he is taking a passenger all the way to Northwood, which I have been told is at the other end of town. So, he won't get back here for at least thirty minutes or so. Once again, I appreciate your help. I probably should leave now."

"And go where?" Milliardo ask. "You just said, the taxi won't come for half an hour."

The older man shrugged. "I'll just take another walk, I guess."

"But that's ridiculous. Why don't you stay right here? I'll make us a cup of coffee."

"Are you sure? I really don't want to bother you any more than I already have." Treize replied. "You seemed to have still been sleeping when I…"

" But I'm awake now." Milliardo made a dismissive gesture. "Besides, sleep is highly overrated. To think that we actually sleep almost 1/3 of our lives away… and all the things we might be missing in doing it. And not to mentioned, I make a mighty good coffee, or so I have been told."

The other man laughed. It was a soft and pleasant sound. "Well, if you put it that way. How could I possibly say no? Not to mention," he added with a sparkle of mirth in his eyes. "I really love a good cup of coffee."

"Well then, why don't you have a seat?" the blond offered. He was glad that he had actually washed the dishes last night and didn't have to serve his guest coffee from a paper cup. "Earlier you said you had been hold that Northwood is at the other side of town," he said as he readied the coffee maker. "Does this mean you are not from around here?"

"No, I just moved here two days ago."

"Really?" _Now that's interesting. _"Where do you live, if you don't mind me asking?"

"At the moment still at the Hyatt, I haven't had time to look for a more permanent residence." Treize told him. "Actually it's one of the reasons I came here this morning. I've heard old town is a beautiful place, I thought maybe I could see a for-sale sign or two on my walk around Kensington Plaza."

"You know, they have something called the internet these days," Milliardo replied teasingly as he put two cups and a carton of creamer on the table. "You can check out real estate on your computer, without ever having to leave your desk. I do assume the Hyatt has internet access."

"Oh I'm sure they do." The older man chuckled again. "But call me old fashion. Buying a book or cd over the internet is one thing, but shopping for a house…I don't know."

"And, did you have any luck house hunting?"

"I'm afraid not." He shrugged. "The one house I had really set my heart one seems to be not available."

"Sorry, to hear that." Milliardo said as he broke out the rest of the birthday cake from the night before. "Can I get you something sweet with your coffee?"

"Birthday cake?!" Treize raised one eyebrow. "Should I be congratulating you?"

"Not me, no." the younger man smirked. "It's leftover from…a friends' birthday yesterday." _I'd tell you more, but I don't think you'd believe me if I said I was celebrating with your… what is Alexander to you anyway; your great grandfather? But that would presuppose that Alexander had at least one child. I really still don't know much about him, do I? _

"Ah, I see. Well maybe a small piece," his guest smiled.

"As you wish." Milliardo nodded as he cut the cake and poured the coffee. He settled down in the chair across from his guest. They talked small, about everything and nothing in particular and he couldn't help but think that Treize's charming and amusing manner reminded him very much of the way his great grandfather had described Alexander in his diary. And his eyes…They were just as…no even more mesmerizing than in the painting. _Piercing but deep blue like the water in a bottomless lake, _he thought. _One could easily drown in them._

###

Milliardo woke slowly. He yawned and pulled his cover tighter around his body without ever opening his eyes. It was Saturday and he had nowhere to be, so there was no reason for him to leave the warm comfort of his bed quite yet.

_What a dream,_ he thought. He had almost gotten used to the strange visions about Alexander and his great-grandfather every night, but never before had there been other people in his dreams. _He was an interesting character, though. And not to mentioned quite handsome. I wouldn't mind having some more 'intense' dreams about him. _Milliardo grinned softly. _Still, I don't know where this came from. They say dreams are a mixture of memories and imagination, but it's pretty sad if I can't do any better than imagine having coffee with a hot looking guy like that._

Milliardo was still trying to decide if he should go back to sleep for a while longer when his phone on the nightstand rung. Reaching for it blindly he flipped it open and pushed the speak button. "Yeah?!"

"Hi there; did I wake you?" Wufei's voice came from the other end of the line.

"No, not really, what's up?"

"Duo wanted to know if you need us to come over today."

"No, that's fine. I won't be moving anything else at the moment; just in case my father decided to drop by. He doesn't know I'm actually 'living' here already. He insists on sending some kind of building inspector in first, to make sure the roof won't fall onto my head one night while I'm sleeping."

"I see."

"Talking of sleeping, I have had the strangest dream last night."

"How so?" the other youth wanted to know.

"Well, actually I have been having strange dreams ever since we opened that diary, always about Alexander and Octavian. But this time it was different. I actually dreamed of meeting one of Alexander's descendents…" Milliardo outlined his dream about the stranger who called himself Treize Khushrenada for his friend. "Weird, isn't it?"

"Hmm… I'm no Sigmund Freud, but could it be that you are… attracted to Alexander?"

"Wha…" Milliardo snorted. "I might find him interesting, yes, but… Besides, he was my great grandfather's lover and is about a hundred years older than me, and…what am I forgetting? Oh yeah! He is DEAD."

"Exactly." Wufei replied calmly.

"Exactly?" the blond echoed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"All those reasons don't apply to the guy bin your dream, right?"

"Hmm…I didn't think about it that way." Milliardo admitted. "Well anyway, if you guys want to come over to hang out that's fine. I'll be around all day."

After he hung up the young man finally rolled out of bed and got dressed. _Maybe I should call Father later and tell him I made up my mind about this place. _

With another lazy yawn Milliardo shuffled into the kitchen, or at least he was about to, but stopped dead in his tracks at the door. His brows knitted into a puzzled frown, as his eyes fell onto the table. _Two cups?! But that would mean... _

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	8. Chapter 8

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 8**

"Hey Peacecraft, did you hear?" Milliardo had barely set foot into the room when a couple of his classmates approached him.

"Hear what?" He put his laptop bag down on the table and dropped into his chair.

"Professor Bonaparte quit."

"Actually, he retired. Yes I knew. He told me last Friday when I went to his office."

"Did he tell you anything about his replacement?" One of the other guys asked.

The young man shook his head. "Only that he didn't know him."

"I've heard the other teacher talk about him this morning." Mueller planted himself on the corner of Milliardo's desk. "Apparently he taught at King's Point before."

"The military academy?" someone in the background asked and Mueller rolled his eyes. "Do you know of another 'King's Point'?"

"So, he is probably a Military guy who retired from active service and went into teaching, in other words some old geezer." Milliardo assumed. "One question remains though, why would anyone who taught at King's Point come to this place?"

"Maybe he got fired?"

"Who cares? As long as he doesn't start treating us like a bunch of cadets I don't care who stands in front of the class."

"Everyone, please take your seats. The bell rung already, I believe." Headmaster Stiller's deep baritone interrupted the student's conversation and everybody scurried to their desks.

The headmaster waited till the class had quieted down before he continued. "As you probably know by now, Professor Bonaparte retired from his teaching position and left our school. I'm sure we will miss him all dearly, but I'm very excited to introduce you to your new history teacher…."

Milliardo was barely hearing what Stiller was saying, because he was starting in complete surprise at the man beside him. Tall, tawny-haired and blue-eyed, he looked just like the other morning when he stood outside Milliardo's door, even wearing a similar suit.

"…Professor, Treize Khushrenada."

_Why is my heart pounding like this?_

#

The headmaster continued his speech for a few more minutes before he finally turned toward the new teacher.  
"Professor, would you like to take over from here?"

"Why not." Treize nodded. "Thank you for the kind introduction, Headmaster."

"Well then, I'll leave you to your class. If there are any problems whatsoever, you can find me in my office."

"I'm sure everything will be fine." After waiting until the headmaster had left the room, the tawny-haired man turned toward his class. "Well, thanks to headmaster Stiller you know who I am, but I still don't know whom I will be teaching. So, why don't you start by telling me your name, beginning with you…" he pointed at a young man at a desk at the front left row.

"Marcus McCarter."

"Mister, McCarter, you don't see me sitting down while I am talking to you, do you? I'd appreciate it if you could show me the same courtesy and get up from you chair when you are speaking, and that goes for everyone else as well."

A wave of discontented murmurs went through class, but in the end every last student rose to their feet and stood while introducing him or herself.

"Very well," the professor nodded when they were done, and checked his watch. "Only fifteen minutes left, not exactly enough time to begin a new lesson. I know the headmaster already told you a few things about you, but some of you might still have a question or two. So, I'll give you these fifteen minutes to ask me whatever you'd like to ask." He looked around the class. "Anyone?"

In the back of the room someone's hand shot up. "Is it true that you taught at King's Point before you came here?"

"Yes, that's correct. I spent three years teaching there."

At Milliardo's left Mueller snorted and mumbled something about "Just a School Desk Soldier." The blond shot him a cold glare.

Although the biting remark wasn't made very loud, it didn't escape the professor's ears.

Treize turned toward him with a smile on his face, the smile of a cobra checking out his next meal. "Mister…Mueller it is, isn't it? Perhaps if you were more familiar with our military school system, you'd know that no one teaches in King's Point who doesn't have at least five years of training and three years of active duty under his belt. And I assure you, desk jobs do not count as active duty."

"Professor, does that mean you have seen real combat?" someone asked.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Why did you leave King's Point for this place?"

"For personal reasons. I actually applied two years ago, but back then there was no position open. Anyone else."

There was some quiet chuckling in the back of the class and then one of the girls asked: "Are you married, Professor?"

Treize laughed. "No, I'm not. Unless of course you would ask my mother, who always complains that I am married to my job."

Milliardo had been listening quietly and with great interest, all the while studying his new teacher. A few times Treize had looked over to him and their eyes met. The young man wasn't sure if he should asked Treize about his family background and perhaps find out what, if any, his relationship to Alexander was. But before he could raise his hand the bell rang ending the class, and he missed his opportunity.

#

"Mister Peacecraft, you are difficult to find."

Milliardo languidly opened his eyes and focused on this new history teacher standing in front of him. He had been lounging on one of the stone benches in the school's flower garden, his head resting comfortably on the bunched up jacket of his school uniform.

"I didn't know you were looking for me, Professor," he replied as he swung his legs over the side of the bench and sat up. He could have added that the main reason he had picked the furthest corner of the flower garden for his little 'siesta' was that he didn't want to be found. "Am I in trouble?"

"Why? Did you do anything that could get you in trouble?"

"You mean Professor Bonaparte didn't leave you his little black book of delinquent students?"

The older man chuckled. "Perhaps he did, I'll have to check his desk. Come to think of, shouldn't you still be in class right now?"

"Independent studies."

"Oh, is that what they call it these days? And I could have sworn you were sleeping when I just came."

"Not sleeping," Milliardo corrected. "Just resting my eyes while I was thinking. But if you are not here to reprimand me, why **were** you looking for me?"

"Because I wanted to thank you once more for letting me use your phone the other day. And I thought I'd repay my dept by inviting you to a cup of coffee…after school of course."

"That sounds good. Any particular place you had in mind?"

"I'm not sure. You know this town better than I do, so why don't you pick the location."

"Well, there are quite a few nice shops nearby. What do you like better, coffee or tea?"

"Hmm…I do like both."

"In that case, I know just where we should go. Barney's Teahouse, not only do they serve great coffee and tea, but you can also have them both together in their famous Green Tea latte. It's only two blocks from here, on the corner of Lexington and Maple Street. Till when are you working?"

"My last class ends at three."

"Perfect, so does mine. We can meet there; let's say at three thirty."

"Are you driving?" the professor asked.

"Normally yes, but I took my car in for a checkup yesterday and didn't get around to pick it up yet."

"In that case, why don't you wait for me at the teacher's parking lot; I'll give you a ride."

"Aren't you afraid people might start talking if you pick up a student on your very first day?"

"Pick up a student?" There was an amused undertone in Treize's voice. "That's sounds rather…"

"Naughty?"

The older man laughed quietly. "That was not exactly the word I would have used, but I suppose it works. But I'm not afraid of rumors. Besides, we are only going to have a cup of coffee together, right?"

"Right."

"Well then, I'll see you later." Treize nodded. "I guess I'll let you go back to your 'independent studies' now."

Milliardo smirked.

The older man was about to turn away and leave when he stopped him.

"Professor?!"

"Yes?"

"May I ask you a question? I was going to ask you earlier in class, but I was not sure if it was too personal."

"Oh?!" Treize raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, I was wondering if you have…had family here in town. I was reading some old newspaper a while back, doing research for a project, and I could have sworn the name Khushrenada came up on the social page."

"That must have been some old paper," the professor laughed.

"From around the turn of the last century," Milliardo confirmed.

"Yeah I suppose that could have been about right," Treize gave another nod as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Most of my family and ancestors come from the north, but I was told that a distant relative of mine, a great grant uncle or cousin twice removed lived down here. But to tell the truth I had no idea," he added with a tiny smirk, "that he was renowned enough to make it into the 'social page'."

###

"So, what do you think, Professor?" Milliardo asked after taking another sip from his latte.

"I think you really ought to stop calling me that. At least while we are not in school." Treize replied. They were sitting at a table in the very back of the small café.

"That's not exactly what I meant."

"I know what you meant. I can see why this place is so popular with many students. The coffee here is very good. Although, not as good as the one you made, if I may add."

"You don't have to flatter me, you know." The blond laughed. For some reason he felt very relaxed around the other man. Perhaps it was his easy going attitude. He wondered if Octavian felt the same way when he was with Alexander.

When he looked up Milliardo he realized that Treize was studying him. He gave then older man a questioning look, but he only smiled.

"Now, if you don't mind I have a question for you?" he said after a while. "The other day, when I knocked at your door, do you realize that you called me by my middle name?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Milliardo admitted in complete confusion. But as he tried to recall that moment when he first opened the door it suddenly hit him. "Your middle name is Alexander?"

"Indeed," the professor confirmed with a nod. "My full name is Treize Alexander Khushrenada."

"I had no idea," the younger man admitted.

"So, you are telling me it was pure coincident that you blurted out that name when you first saw me?" Treize had raised his coffee cup to his lips and was eying the younger man curiously from over the rim.

"I guess so," Milliardo replied evasively. "I must have thought you were someone else for a moment." It sounded rather lame, even to his own ears, and he could tell from the look on Treize's face that he wasn't buying it either. But what was he supposed to do; tell him that he mistook him for a long dead relative of his?

Luckily at that moment the phone in his pocket chimed, indicating that he had received a text message, giving him an excuse to interrupt their conversation.

"Repair shop," he said after checking the message. "My car is ready. I guess I should pick it up before they close; or I'll have to walk to school again tomorrow."

"Or…" Treize smirked a little."I could pick you up and give you a ride."

"Right!" Milliardo returned the smirk. "Now that would really get the rumor mill working. We leave together in the afternoon and come back together the next morning. Besides, I really do prefer my own wheels."

"Well, at least allow me to drive you home."

"That, I suppose I can accept."

#

"Thanks again, for the coffee and the ride."

"No problem at all," the other man assured him. He had not only driven the blond home, but also walked him to the door.

"I suppose I'll see you in school then, Professor." Milliardo had unlocked the door and stepped into the house with a last nod back in Treize's direction. But before he ever had a chance to turn around and close the door behind himself he felt a familiar gust of cool air rush past him. There was something different about it, though. He could have sworn the breeze was colder than usually, and it moved by him with such speed and force ripping the door handle right out of his hand and slamming the door close with a bang that startled the young man.

"Alexander!?" he exclaimed in a mixture of astonishment and alarm, but the ghostly presence had disappeared as swiftly as it came.

The blond turned quickly. The last thing he wanted was for Treize to leave, thinking that he, Milliardo, had slammed the door into his face. He reopened it, an apologetic and somewhat sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry about that. Must have left a window open somewhere, when I left this morning. It can get quite drafty."

"No problem," Treize smiled. "Good bye, again."

"Good bye." Making sure he had a good grip on the handle this time, Milliardo closed the door quietly behind himself. _I wonder what that was about._ Frowning slightly he walked through the entry and further down the hall. "Alexander?!"

He waited a few moments, giving the ghost a chance to make his presence known, but nothing happened. The young man checked his watch with an inward sigh. _I guess I'll have to deal with this later. Jose said they are closing shop at 5 today. I won't make it if I don't leave now._

"Alexander, I'm leaving again. If I come back we'll have to talk." …_we'll have to talk? What am I saying? It's not like I can sit down with him and have a conversation. It was strange, though. When he rushed past me I could almost feel anger and resentment. I'm just not sure if it was directed at me or the professor. _For the first time Milliardo wondered if trying to live together with a ghost might not have been such a good idea after all.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note: I'm sorry it took such a long time for this chapter to be finished. Unfortunately it will take probably just as long for the next one to come out. I'm trying to squeeze in a little 13+5+6 story for Christmas before working on Portrait again. But the operative word is 'trying'. I can't promise it will get done on time.


	9. Chapter 9

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 9**

"Alexander?!" The young man pushed the door close with his foot and looked up the large sweeping staircase, as he returned home a couple of hours later. "I grabbed a couple more movies for us to watch."

There was no reaction, but a few moments later Milliardo could hear the sound of piano music from the attic. _So he is ignoring me. Fine, two can play __**that**__ game. _He huffed as he took off his leather jacket; throwing it over one of the chairs when he walked into the kitchen. Putting his shopping bag down on the table - he had not only grabbed a few movies but also dinner at a nearby fast-food place on the way home – he reached for one of the plates still on the drying rack next to the sink from this morning. For some reason even a burger seemed to taste different when eaten from real china.

The piano was still playing when he headed into the living room, dinner in hand and the bag with the movies under his arm. Milliardo popped the first of the tapes into the VCR and settled down on the beat up leather couch. _If I'd have known that I'd be watching by myself I'd have rented something else than a 100 year old crime novel turned movie, _he thought as he stretched out on the sofa with his food right in front of him. The young man got through his burger and fries and about one third through the movie, when he started to feel sleepy. With a yawn he moved his now empty dinner plate onto the small couch table, fluffed up the pillow behind his head. It was way too early to go to bed now, and he still had to finish up a paper due the next day. But maybe he could finish the movie and catch a few minutes of shuteye before moving on to his homework.

However, Milliardo never even made it past the third murder. His eyelids started to droop and he finally couldn't fight the sleepiness any longer. To the soft sound of piano music he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

#

"May I ask what is bothering you, Alexander?" Milliardo/ Octavian asked in his dream, as he and his lover walked the rose garden behind his house. "You have been rather quiet all evening. If it is something I did or said, please let me know."

"It is nothing, my dear," the older man assured him with a somewhat forced smile, "nothing you should concern yourself with."

"But you seem upset. If there is anything I can do…"

"I'm afraid there is not much anyone can do." Alexander replied and at his lover's questioning look he continued. "You remember the letter that was delivered earlier this afternoon?"

"Oh yes, of course, the one from your bother… You never even told me before that you had a brother."

"Well, to tell the truth we haven't had much contact of late. He only wrote to inform me that our father had passed away two days ago."

Octavian swallowed and looked at his lover in a mixture of shock and sympathy. "That's terrible. I'm so sorry to hear it. You have my deepest condolences."

"Thank you." The other man replied somewhat stiffly.

"When is the funeral? Would you like me to accompany you; I'm sure Father wouldn't mind. You could pass me off as a protégé or business associate of yours."

Alexander turned his head, his face betraying no emotion whatsoever as he said. "I appreciate the offer, but I won't be going to the funeral."

"I beg your pardon?" For a moment there he was certain he misunderstood.

"I said I was not going to attend the interment."

"But this is your father we are talking about. If you are not going to pay your last respects you might regret it for the rest of your life." Octavian pointed out.

"He is dead, and me standing over his coffin to say good-by will not change anything. However, the idea of seeing my brother and ... his wife at the funeral is too much to bear for me."

The younger man frowned. The pain in his lover's voice almost made him cringe. "Is there…" he asked, "…is there anything you would like to talk about?" Alexander hardly ever spoke of his family and as far as he, Octavian, knew he never visited them either. He had always assumed it was because they lived far away, but now he had a feeling that there was another deeper reason to it. "Remember, we promised to have no secrets from one another."

Alexander sighed silently but nodded. "You are right. Let's sit down for a moment, shall we." He settled down onto one of the stone benches near the large fountains and extended his hand toward his lover, gentle pulling him down beside him. Peritas, who had been walking several feet ahead of them, turned and trotted back to the bench, to sit down at his master's feet.

Absentmindedly the older man reached out, stroking the large dog's head as he spoke. "As you might have guessed by now, my family, or more precise my brother and I are not exactly on the best of terms."

"You had a falling out with him?" Octavian asked. "But perhaps this might be the best of opportunities to put your fight behind you?"

His lover gazed at him with a soft smile. "You are very sweet, Octavian. But I'm afraid things are not that easy. I have no intention of ever forgiving my brother after what he did to me. You see, two years ago I was engaged to be wed to a young lady named Elizabeth von Haagen. I was young and upcoming naval officer and in the following summer I was going to marry the most beautiful and intelligent woman I had ever met; in other words I had everything going for me. Or so I thought when I left on a long journey to the South Americas. But when I returned a good eight months later I learned that in my absence, Elisabeth had already been married…to my own brother."

Octavian nearly gasped in surprise at the revelation. "Did…did your brother give your any kind of explanation?"

"I did not ask for one."Alexander admitted. "As far as I am concerned there is nothing that would explain this act of betrayal. I packed my things that very day and left my father's house, never to look back. And I'm glad I did…" he added with a soft smile in his lover's direction. "Otherwise I might have never met you, and that… would have been a real tragedy."

Blushing slightly, the younger man averted his eyes even as he slipped his hand into Alexander's. "**I** would never betray your love," he promised.

#

Milliardo woke sudden, like always after one of his strange 'vision' dreams, but didn't open his eyes right away. Instead he laid there, hands interlaced behind his head, trying to take in everything he just had learned.

He wasn't sure how it worked, but the young man was convinced that these dreams were Alexander's way of communicating with him, and as such he also believed that there was truth behind them. The story of his brother's secret marriage to his fiancé would most definitely explain Alexander's anger and aversion toward his family. But a hundred years are a long time to hold a grudge.

_Someone really needs to talk to him. _Milliardo sighed as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch. _I hope he is willing to listen to me._

The piano was still playing when he climbed up the squeaking wooden stairs to the attic and pushed up the door. "Alexander?!"

The music stopped.

_Oh good, at least I know that I have his attention. _"I know what happened and I think I do understand… as well as anyone who hasn't been in your shoes possibly could understand." Milliardo dropped into one of the linen-draped chairs. "What your brother did to you was terrible…"

Almost instantly he could feel the temperature in the room drop by several degrees. _He is furious. _" I can also understand your anger, but I think perhaps it is time for you to forgive your brother and his family. Have you ever considered that he might have regretted his action for the rest of his life, but he never got a chance to tell you? But of course if he was half as stubborn as you are, he might not have known how to tell you…" Milliardo paused for a brief moment. "I know you were able to forgive Octavian for breaking your heart. So, how can you still be angry at your own brother after all these years?"

The temperature slowly rose. _I's not much, but it is a start_, the young man thought. "I have never met Octavian or any of his brothers and sisters even though I'd have loved to get to know them. And I dare to hope that he would have liked to meet any of his descendents as well. You on the other hand have just that unique opportunity, so why would you want to throw it away? Did you know… his middle name is Alexander? I think, somehow your family wanted to keep your memory alive, even after all these years."

Alexander's presence shifted, coming closer until Milliardo could feel him right next to him. A gentle breeze, the soft touch of ghostly fingers, ruffled his hair and the young man knew that his words didn't fall onto deaf ears. He smiled softly. "What do you say, should we go watch that second movie together?" _I can always get up early and finish my homework in the morning._

After waiting a brief moment, as if expecting some kind of answer, Milliardo made his way back downstairs. Before he even reached the sweeping stairs to the ground floor he could hear the TV in the entertainment room come to live. A soft smirk curved his lips. _I suppose having a ghost around does have its advantages... when you lose your remote control, for example. _

###

Hunched over a pile of books and papers at a table in the back of the library, Milliardo raised his hand and grabbed his neck where he had been hit by a small, rubbery piece of eraser… for the second time. His eyes narrowed and without even turning his head he growled. "One more time, Maxwell, and I'll put my boot so deep up your ass you will never get it out."

Duo laughed as he came around the table and slipped into the seat across from his. "I wasn't expecting to find you in the library. What are you doing?"

"Trying to finish my paper before class starts," the older youth told him. "But I could ask you the same."

"Looking for Wufei."

Milliardo finally looked up from his book. "He is here too?"

"Are you kidding? This place is his home away from home. He spends more time here than in the dorms, I swear."

"You are exaggerating, Maxwell, as always," a third voice joined into the conversation. Moments later Wufei Chang stepped into their line of view. "Milliardo." The Chinese youth gave the older student a curt nod.

"Wufei." The blond returned the greeting.

"I'm kind of glad I ran into you." Wufei took the seat next to Duo. "I have been thinking, you know…"

"About what?" Milliardo wanted to know.

"Those strange dreams you are having, the diary…things along those lines."

"And?"

Wufei looked up and straight at the older youth. "What do you know about reincarnation?" he asked.

"You mean that stuff about bodies dying but the soul being eventually reborn? Not much, to be honest."

Wufei nodded as though that answer came o no surprise to him. "I'm no expert either," he admitted. "But from what I know, after the body dies the soul is cleansed and prepared for its rebirth. That's why in most cases we don't remember any of our prior lives. However some cases have been reported of people being able to access those prior memories. Perhaps that's what it's happening in your case, somehow triggered by your meeting with Alexander."

"Wait…wait a second!" Milliardo raised his hand to stop him. "Are you trying to tell me you think I'm the reincarnation of Octavian?"

"That would explain a lot, wouldn't it?"

"I'm not sure." Milliardo admitted. "It sounds all very….farfetched. And I really don't know enough about souls being reborn and stuff like that to form a valid opinion."

Wufei nodded understandingly.

"Can you tell me more?" the older youth asked.

"Like what?"

"Well, for example. Let's assume I am the rein…," He paused. The idea sounded odd, even in his head. "Let's assume my soul really used to be Octavian's. What are the odds that I and Alexander would meet again, in this lifetime?"

"Actually, I have read hypotheses that suggest a soul will surround itself with other familiar souls in every lifetime."

"I've read about that too," Duo agreed eagerly. "Some scholars even go as far as claiming that some of the most famous historical people have actually been reincarnated. Nefertiti and Amenhotep…Cleopatra and Ceasar…Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI for example. I guess that's why they call it 'soul mates'."

Milliardo gave an amused snort. "I hope that doesn't mean I had to keep up with you guys in my prior lifetimes as well." Then he turned serious, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Does reincarnation also work when someone died but hasn't 'passed on' yet?"

"You are talking about Alexander?" Wufei assumed.

"If I AM the reincarnation of Octavian then Treize could quite possibly…"

"Treize?" the Chinese youth echoed, dark brows knitted in confusion.

"I told you about him, remember? The guy who came to my door last Sunday..."

"Right; the guy in your dream. I didn't realize he has a name."

"Well actually," Milliardo admitted with a little smirk. "That wasn't a dream. The guy is as real as it gets. In fact, I'm surprised you have not met him yet. He is our new history teacher."

"So," Duo grinned. "What you are saying is, the new history teacher is the man of your dreams?"

"The man **in** my dream, not **of** my dreams, Maxwell." Milliardo snorted as he smacked the younger man in the back of the head.

Wufei on the other hand srill looked somewhat puzzled. "I don't think I understand."

"Trust me, you will." The blond told him. "Once you see him, you will."

"Now you really made me curious," Duo admitted, still rubbing the spot on his head where he had been hit. "I didn't think I would ever say this, but I can't wait for our next history class."

"You are taking history, Maxwell?" Milliardo was surprised and impressed at the same time. He somehow had expected the other youth to stick to easier subjects.

"I hope so," Duo grinned. "Otherwise I have been wasting a lot of time sitting through a class I'm not taking."

The older youth snorted then checked his watch with a sigh. "I'll never get this paper done if you guys keep bothering me. So take a hike, will you."

"Come one, Wu. Let's check the teacher's longue. Maybe he is there grading papers or something."

"Alright," Wufei agreed. Truth to be told he was just as curious now to meet the new history teacher as his friend was.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note: Alright, so the fic for Christmas never happened. But with the Holidays behind us I'm back on my usual schedule with includes some writing ever day.


	10. Chapter 10

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 10**

Tapping his fingers to the beat of the song coming from his headphones, Milliardo turned another page in his history book with the other hand. His mother did never understand how he could listen to music and read at the same time, but for some reason it worked for him.

It was typical for a new teacher to give their students some kind of 'assessment' test to evaluate what they had learned from his predecessor. Milliardo expected Treize to do just that on Friday. And considering how little attention he had been paying in Professor Bonaparte's class, some brushing up was definitely in order.

Absorbed in his music and reading, the young man didn't even notice that the soft piano music coming from that attic had stopped. A sudden noise, something akin to ceramic breaking followed a loud thump or thud, coming from the entry, ripped the blond from his studies. Startled he jumped up, pulling the headphones from his ears and his iPod from the table in the process.

As he dashed out of the kitchen he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and his yaw dropped. Sprawled out on the little faded rug near the front door, covered with dirt, pieces of ivy and the scattered remains of what used to be a flower pot, lay a man, middle-aged, lanky and with slightly graying hair.

_What the… A burglar; in the middle of the afternoon in a busy neighborhood? I don't think so. _Milliardo frowned as he cautiously prodded the lifeless figure with the tip of his shoe. He could feel the, by now almost familiar, presence of his ghostly housemate by his side, which somehow was reassuring at the moment.

"Alexander, what in the world happened?" he asked as he slowly went down on his knees next to the stranger. It was of course a rhetorical question, since the ghost couldn't reply. And besides, it didn't take too much imagination to come up with the answer on his own.

Quite obviously, for one reason or another, the strange man had walked into the house and Alexander had stopped him by dropping a flower pot onto his head.

_He isn't dead, is he?_ Milliardo reached out and touched the man's neck, letting out a sigh of relieve as he felt a slow but steady pulse beneath his fingertips. _Only unconscious, good. _

There was no blood on the back of his head, only a big lump where the pot had struck him. As he turned the man carefully over Milliardo was in for yet another surprise. Beneath the figure, hidden by his body until now, was a key, a small golden key just like the one on his keychain. Only this one had a blue plastic tag attached to it. And on the tag, in a very familiar handwriting, it read: 26 Kensington. _It's the spare key we always keep at home in the cabinet by the door. _His frown deepened. _That would mean either mom or dad must have given it to him._

Milliardo slipped his hand into the front of the stranger's grey jacket and pulled a folded leather wallet from the inside pocket. It was the kind that opens up to reveal an id and badge, like cops carry around. But in this case, the little silver badge identified the man as a safety inspector working for the city, and the corresponding id said that his name was Hubert, Walter Hubert.

_Damn it! _The young man swore silently. _It's the inspector my father sent. I wish he'd given me some kind of warning._

After a few seconds of contemplating Milliardo started picking up the broken pieces of clay scattered around the man's body. Alexander was still around, he could feel it. "A little help here," he said as he rose to his feet. "I know you were only trying to protect me, and I really appreciate that. But this man is here on my father's request and I'd prefer that he didn't find out that either of us is living here." He gestured toward the kitchen. "I'm going to throw these away. See if you can do something about that soil and dirt on the floor."

After dumping the broken pot into the trash can and hiding the dishes and food containers sitting around openly, the blond soaked a dish towel in cold water and headed back into the entry, which was now clean like it had just been swept. For a moment Milliardo wasn't sure how Alexander had done it, but then he noticed a few small but suspicious lumps beneath the little area carpet. A soft grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. _I'd call that a literal interpretation of sweeping ones problem under the rug._

Once again he knelt down next to the unconscious inspector and laid the wet, cold towel across his forehead. Very much to his relieve, the man started to stir. He moaned quietly then his eyelids fluttered.

"Mister Hubert?!"

His eyes opened completely and after a moment focused on Milliardo, a confused expression on his face. "Who…are you?" he asked with a slight but distinctive British accent.

"My name is Milliardo Peacecraft; my father hired you I believe to check out this house that used to belong to our grandmother."

The inspector frowned slightly, pushed himself up and raised his hand, gently probing the bump on his head. "I was told nobody would be in the house."

"Well, normally that's the case. But I come here every once in a while to make sure everything is alright, and to do my homework. It's quieter than the place where I live," Milliardo lied without even blinking.

Very cautiously Hubert nodded. "What… what happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"Only unlocking the door and stepping into the house, then everything goes black."

_Excellent! _Milliardo breathed a sigh of relieve. "That's great! ...Umm…I mean it's great you do remember that much. I'm not quite sure what happened either; I came running when I heard the noise. But I assume you tripped over the rug…stumbled backward and… and hit your head on the ground. Yeah, that's exactly what must have happened." _I'm WAY too good at this. _"I guess that means you will have to label that rug as a safety hazard in your report," he added with a wry grin.

Mister Hubert seemed to be a man of humor. "I suppose I do." He chuckled at the little joke as, with Milliardo's help, he finally got up on his feed. "Well, I'd better get started then. They don't pay me to lay down on the job…hahahaha."

Eying the other man skeptically the blond asked. "Are you sure? You got a pretty nasty bump on your head. Maybe I should call paramedics so they can check you out."

"No no, that's really not necessary. I'm perfectly fine." The inspector replied with a dismissive gesture. "I used to play Rugby in my youth. What do you think how many times we got knocked on the head back then? You just got up and walk it off."

_I ALWAYS wondered why those crazy Brits don't wear helmets._ Milliardo put on his best smile. "Well then, I won't keep you from doing your job. Is there anything I should do?"

"Only point me toward the basement, I'll start there and make my way up. Oh yes, and make sure there aren't any other 'slippery rugs' around for me to trip over…hahaha."

#

A good hour later Milliardo had finished a large portion of his studies and decided that it might be better to accompany the inspector as he was getting ready to check out the attic.

"So," he asked innocently as he followed the man up the creaky wooden stairs. "Did you find anything wrong or unsafe with this place, if I may ask?"

"Only a few minor problems that can easily be fixed. I would suggest replacing the water heater in the basement, though. Perhaps you will find a museum willing to buy it."

The young man managed a chuckle. _I never understood British humor. _"Yeah, I guess it is a little old, isn't it. My grandmother was very attached to anything and everything in this house and had a hard time getting rid of things."

"Oh yes, I can tell." Hubert let his gaze wander over the piles of boxes and trunks and old furnishings. "Although I'm not sure why the old lady felt like hanging on to this god-awful furniture."

The words had barely left the man's lips when Milliardo noticed one of the table lamps in the corner suspiciously move. Quickly he jumped in and managed to get his hands on it before Alexander could turn it into a projectile. "Alexander, kitchen…now!" he hissed quietly before turning back toward the inspector. "Well, I'd better let you get back to your work then."

He dashed down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and closed the kitchen door behind himself as he entered. The last thing he needed was for the inspector come downstairs and see him 'talk to himself.'  
Alexander was already in the room, he could feel it. "What in the world do you think you are doing?" he snapped. "You can't go around throwing stuff at people just because they don't like you sense of style." He paused briefly. "Maybe you don't realize it, but if this guy writes a bad report about this place, my father will sell the house. And I don't think either of us wants that to happen. Now, stay here and don't move until I tell you otherwise!"

Milliardo sighed as he opened the kitchen door again. _You'd expect someone who is more than a hundred years old to act a little less childish, wouldn't you? _"And just for your information…" He turned his head. "By today's standards, some of that furniture IS god-awful."

Moments later he could hear the inspector come walking down the stairs. "Unless there are any other rooms in this house that I haven't seen yet, I recon my work here is done," he said. "I'll email my detailed report to your father tomorrow."

"And what's the final verdict?"

"Like I said, I can't find anything wrong with the place. Say what you want, but at least they knew how to build things back then."

"Thanks; if you want you can leave the key with me. I'll drop it off at home the next time I'm there."

"Really? That would be very helpful, thank you."

As the man plugged the spare key from his coat pocket he suddenly pulled up his shoulders. "Oh my, it's a little chilly down here, isn't it?"

"Yeah well, this place is been staying empty for a couple years now with no heating. So what else can one expect?"

"I suppose so. Well then, good bye."

"Good bye." Milliardo closed the door behind the man with a sigh of relieve. _I guess we dodged that bullet.  
_"My Father should get the report tomorrow; which means soon enough I'll be able to move in officially. We will defiantly have to have a little house warming party. And Alexander…no throwing things at the guests," he grinned. "But for now I need to go back to my history books."

The young man had barely set foot into the kitchen when the phone in his pocket rang. Frowning slightly when he recognized the number the call was coming from, he pushed the talk button. "Hello?!"

"Milliardo, its Tony. I'm in kind of a bind. Could you come in tonight? I know you usually don't work under the week, but we are short staffed already, and Ronny just called in sick…"

"Sick? His illness wouldn't by any chance be related to a little red-head with a French accent, would it?"

He could hear his boss chuckle on the other end of the line. "Yeah that's pretty much what I was thinking too. But what can I do? So, can I count on you?"

"Well actually I still have to study…. Tell you what, I'll come in but I'll stay in the backroom doing my homework. If a client asks for me or the place gets crowded you can get me."

"Thanks, you saved my ass."

"Try to remember it next time you are handing out bonuses."

###

As he walked through the heavy velvet curtain at the entrance Treize let his gaze wander through the room, surprised and quite definitely impressed. An associate of his had told him about the Dragonfly, but he didn't really know what to expect. From the outside the place didn't look like much, and he had prepared himself for more of a cheap bar than a classy nightclub. For a moment there in the parking lot, he had even considered turning his car around and leaving, now he was glad he didn't.

The room, including the walls, floors and furnishings were held in a mixture of white leather and red crushed velvet; dim lighting, candles on every table and subtle music from well placed, hidden speakers gave the place a very intimate atmosphere. A round bar was the centerpiece of the room, and Treize pretended not to notice that he had turned the heads of several young men sitting there, when he walked in.

"Welcome to the Dragonfly." A man in his late twenties with deep brown eyes and hair to match their color approached him with a smile. "I'm Antonio, Tony for most people, the club's manager."

"Thank you," Treize returned the smile. "Do you greet all of your costumers personally?"

"I try to."

"Oh really?" he tried to sound disappointed, but his smile turned into a ghost of a smirk. "And for a moment there I thought I was special."

"But you are, because here at the Dragonfly all our customers are special."

"Is that so?!"

"Absolutely. Would you like me to show you to a table, or do you prefer the bar?"

"I think a table would be great."

"Of course. This way, please." As the manager led him to a small table in the back of the room he turned his head to Treize. "I don't think I remember seeing your face here before."

"It's my first visit," the tawny-haired man confirmed. "A friend referred the place to me."

"Oh really? Well then, I hope you enjoy yourself."

Treize nodded as he slipped into the leather covered seat. "Thank you."

"Can I get you started with something to drink?"

"Um… could I take a look at your wine card?"

"Absolutely," Tony nodded. "I'll send someone over with it right away. And, would you like some company tonight or would you rather enjoy some privacy?"

Treize's smiled ever so softly as he looked up. "I think I'd **love** some company."

"Any preferences, if I may ask?"

His smile turned a little wider, a sparkle of mirth in his eyes. "Why don't you try to surprise me?"

"I'll see what I can do." With another nod and a polite smile the manager retreated.

A few minutes later a young man brought Treize the promised wine card, and he was studying it, trying to decide what he was in the mood for. The soft carpeting swallowed any sound of footsteps and so he never realized that someone had approached his table until that person cleared his throat.

"Professor?!"

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	11. Chapter 11

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 11**

"Professor?!"

His head snapped up in surprise, or perhaps shock would be a better word. "Mil…Milliardo, what are you doing here?"

"I work here," the blond gave him a little smirk. "I believe you were asking for company."

"Yes…but…"

One of Milliardo's eyebrows shot up in a mixture of amusement and sarcasm. "You are not going to tell me that you are not gay and walked in here only by accident, thinking it is a straight bar, do you?"

Treize felt a slight heat rising into his cheeks. In less than a minute the younger man had managed to make him speechless and blush, something no one else had accomplished in a very long time. Perhaps because of the military's 'don't ask don't tell' policy, he had always been very discreet about his sexual preferences, which was also the reason why he was visiting this particular bar, half way across town from campus. And to think that that the first person to find out was one of his own students… somehow he wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

"No, I won't insult your intelligence by trying to tell you that."

Dressed in a pair of black trousers and a white tuxedo jacket over a black shirt; his long silvery tresses hanging loose over his shoulders, Milliardo looked stylish and elegant, but not overdressed.

A soft smile tugged on his lips as the young man looked down at his teacher. "May I sit down?" he finally asked.

"Oh... yes, of course." Treize bolted upright, and quickly pulled out a chair for Milliardo.

The younger man nodded as he slipped into the seat. "Thank you."

As he settled down again in his own chair, the professor studied the blond for a few moments silently. How was he going to put this without sounding improper? "So..." he finally asked, "You just work here?"

Milliardo gave a soft laugh. "Well, let's say I'm not only the president of the hair club but also a member as well, if that's what you are trying to ask."*

Treize chuckled, as the ice finally began to break. "That's one way to put it, I suppose."

"You have nothing to worry about, though. Your secret will be safe with me, Professor, and I'd appreciate if you could promise me the same. I'd prefer for people not to find out where I work."

"That's fair enough," the older man nodded, "and quite understandable. But I think you really ought to drop the 'Professor' and try to think of me not as your teacher, tonight."

"I'll do my best," the blond promised.

Now that he was finally starting to relax Treize was also returning to being his usual, charming self. "Because as your teacher," he added a sparkle of mirth in his blue eyes. "I'd have to ask you. What are you doing working late at night anyway when you have classes in the morning?"

Milliardo laughed, it was a deep and bubbling sound. "I usually don't." he explained. "And I wasn't supposed to work tonight either. In fact I was sitting in the back room studying…History… until I heard your voice."

"Right!" Treize replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"You don't believe me? That hurts," the younger man jested.

"But why wouldn't I? Doesn't everybody study in the backroom of a bar dressed up like this?" the professor replied with a sweeping gesture at his outfit.

"I can show you my notebooks, if you wish. Or you can test me." Milliardo felt like his honor was being questioned and he could not let that stand. "I was brushing up on the French revolution. Ask me any question."

"Sorry but this is my time off. I don't like to take my work home… or any place else for that matter." Treize laughed. "But you can always come and see me after class for some tutoring. And now, no more talk about school, please."

"Fine then. But I WAS studying."

The young man who had brought Treize the wine menu earlier returned, and this time he was carrying two glasses of bubbling champagne.

As he placed them onto the table, the professor raised one eyebrow. "I don't recall ordering anything yet."

"Courtesy of the club manager," the young man explained with a hint of a smirk. "Reserved for very special guests only, he asked me to mention."

"I see, well in that case…" Treize reached for his glass, turned his head toward the man sitting at the far side of the bar and gave him an appreciative nod.

As the waiter retreaded the professor turned back toward Milliardo. "Well, let's drink to an enjoyable evening, shall we?"

The champagne was smooth, with just the right amount of bubbles and a tiny bit on the dry side; definitely not a cheap 20 dollar, or even 50 dollar bottle. As he put down his glass Treize noticed that the liquid in his companion's flute differed ever so slightly from his own. He picked up the glass, brought his to his nose and looked at the younger man questioningly. "Sparkling apple cider?"

"With a touch of club soda to make it lighter," Milliardo confirmed. "I'm surprised you noticed. Paolo is quite adept in matching the colors."

"You don't drink?" The professor seemed somewhat surprised. "You **are** of age, are you not?"

The blond gave another laugh. "Yes, I am. You have nothing to worry about. And no, I don't drink, not if I have classes the next morning. There is nothing worse than sitting through a lecture with a hangover."

"I suppose though," Treize chuckled.

As the evening went on the two men talked, keeping their conversation light and clear of topics such as school.

The professor ordered a bottle of expensive red wine, even though he only drank a couple of glasses, while Milliardo decided to stick with his sparkling cider, even after the other man assured him that a good glass of wine would not make him drunk or hung over in the morning. Treize was charming and witty as always, making him very pleasant to be around. The blond couldn't help but wonder once again if his Great Grandfather had felt the same way when he was with Alexander.

The older man did most of the talking while Milliardo listened, something he was quite good in he had been told. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he was one of the more popular hosts here at the Dragonfly, and it was most defiantly the reason why Tony had approached and asked to hire him. Even back when he came to the club as a guest, other guys would invite him to a drink and start pouring their heart out to him. The Dragonfly was no bordello and people didn't come here for sex. Well, some probably did, and some probably also got what they wanted after the club closed, but the majority came to be with someone who made them feel special for a night. A good host knew how to do just that, in a non-sexual kind of way.

Milliardo learned that Treize was an only child, coming from a long line of high ranking officers. His grandfather was a Lieutenant Colonel, and his father made it all the way to Major General. Treize might have topped both of them if not for a combat injury that forced him to resign from active duty and take on a teaching position. His mother was still alive, hoping that he would get married and give her a bunch of grandchildren some day. She had been trying for years to arrange 'chance meetings' between him and 'suitable' young ladies from her social scene, but so far he had always managed to dodge the bullet.

A soft, deep laugh bubbled in Milliardo's throat. "And I thought **my** mother was too involved in my personal life. But at least she isn't trying to marry me off."

"Yet!" the other man replied. "That, my dear Milliardo, might be the operative word."

"I surely hope not," he chuckled. There was a brief moment of silence before he asked. "Do you have any regrets about leaving the military and coming to Marymount? From the way you speak, your family and their traditions seem to be very important to you?"

"Regrets?!" Treize echoed. "No, not a single one. It wasn't a decision I made on a whim. Besides, I believe that everything in life happens for a reason. So, there should also be a reason for me moving to this town. Perhaps it was… so that I could meet **you**!" The younger man didn't pull away when he slowly reached out and placed his hand gently on top of Milliardo's.

Milliardo looked up, straight into the professor's face, and as their eyes was he felt mesmerized by the passion in those piercing blue eyes. He felt like drowning in a lake of blue, and he didn't even care.

#

Treize had stayed until two o'clock in the morning when the Dragonfly closed. Before taking his leave he left a tip large enough to ensure that the staff would most defiantly remember him at his next visit. He had tipped Milliardo, who almost felt awkward about taking the money, separately, and thanked him for a most wonderful evening.

His jacket thrown over his shoulder and his tie loosened, the young man stifled a yawn as he waved at the Manager and Paolo the barkeeper, who were still closing up the place. "I'm out of here."

"Thank again Milliardo," Tony nodded at him. "So, I'll take you off the schedule for Friday night then."

"Thanks. See you guys later." As he walked outside the young man stopped a brief moment to breathe the cool, clear night air, before starting to cross the nearly empty, well-lit parking lot.

"Milliardo?!"

He held his step, turning his head, a soft smirk on his lips. "Am I being stalked?"

"I don't think I have ever been accused of stalking before," Treize, standing next to his black Mercedes, replied in the same lighthearted tone of voice. "I didn't see your car in the parking lot so I thought I'd offer you a ride home."

"Thanks, but I already have a ride. The club provides taxis for us, you see." The younger man gestured toward a Yellow Cab waiting by the side of the road.

"That's very thoughtful of the management." The professor seemed impressed.

"Yeah," Milliardo nodded. "Not everyone likes Sparkling Cider, and paying a few cab fares is probably a lot better than having to deal with the trouble that comes from having one of your hosts arrested for DUV."

"Very true," Treize agreed, and then with a theatrical sigh he added. "Too bad for me though. I was looking forward to spending a little more time with you."

_Man, are you smooth. If that's a trait that runs in the family I can understand why Octavian fell head over heels for your…great great uncle. _The younger man laughed. "Well, I guess I could send the taxi away."

#

A good thirty minutes or so later the professor dropped Milliardo off just outside his house.

"Thanks again," the young man said as he climbed out of the car.

"No, thank **you**. I had a wonderful time tonight," Treize replied.

"So did I." Milliardo hesitated for just one second or two, then looked straight at the other man as he asked. "Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"

For a moment it looked like Treize was going to agree, but then the older man shook his heads. "As much as I'd love to accept that offer, I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check on it. It's late, and I think we both should get some sleep. It would be bad if you were to fall asleep in class tomorrow morning, but it would be even worse if it'd happen to me."

"Yeah." Milliardo grinned. "I suppose so. Good night then, I'll see you tomorrow in school… or rather today."

"Good night, Milliardo."

The young walked up the three steps to his front door and unlocked it, but then waited and watched as Treize started his car and the black Mercedes disappeared around the next corner. _I'm kind of glad he declined, _he thought as he finally stepped through the door. _Things might not have ended with just a cup of coffee tonight, and tomorrow, who know, we might have both regretted it._

###

"Are these the last boxes?"

"Yes, that should be it," Milliardo nodded as he looked around. "Everything that's left came with the apartment and will stay."

He had hired the company Duo was working at for his move to ensure that his friend got a little 'referral' bonus for the job. It wasn't that he had a lot of furniture to begin with. The apartment was small and came with most the essentials. His electronics, computer system and the large fold-out couch he used to sleep on was probably the biggest purchases he had made since moving here. But of course there were plenty of little personal things that had to be packed up. Luckily Relena volunteered to help him with that; otherwise he might be still at it.

True, he could have waited a week till spring break when he had more time, instead of moving on a two day notice. But somehow he just didn't have the patience. Once his father gave his 'okay', and very much to Milliardo's surprise, even put the house in his name, he could not wait to get moving.

"I heard you are going to have a 'house warming party'?!" Duo asked.

"Yes, right after spring break. Nothing too big though, just a few of my friends; that includes you and Wufei of course."

"Are you sure that's a good idea; considering how 'he' reacted to just one stranger showing up at your door. It's not like you can chain him up in the backroom or so till the guest are gone."

Milliardo had told his friends about the little 'mishap' with the building inspector.

"That's why I'm planning to have the party in the backyard. I'll make sure we'll spend as much time as possible outside the house, and the attic will be most definitely off limits to anyone."

Duo swung his long braid over the shoulder and crooked his head trying to read the words that were plastered all over the moving boxes in large bold letters. **Fragile! Dishes! **

The young man huffed in amusement. "More dishes? What the heck? What were you doing; run an illegal china shop out of here?"

When he picked up one of the boxes however he frowned. From what he could tell, and he had plenty of experience, it was way too light to hold anything but clothes or towels. His frown turned into a scowl as it suddenly it hit him. "You just marked them all as dishes, didn't you? So we would carry them more carefully. Well, for your information. We are professionals. We handle **everything** with care."

"Hey, don't look at me," Milliardo defended himself, "I didn't pack that stuff. If you have to bark at someone talk to Relena."

"Talk to me about what?" Just like on cue his sister walked in through the open front door, looking like Rosie the Riveter in one of those famous 'We can do it' posters. Only Rosie the Riveter probably never wore a pink bandana.

Duo just huffed and mumbled something about "women" as he shuffled past her out the door.

"What was that all about?"

"Beats me." Her brother shrugged. "But what are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd clean the place up after you guys are done. And I'll do it for less than a cleaning crew would."

"I wasn't planning on hiring a cleaning crew."

"Then it's a good thing I came, isn't it?" She flashed him a wide smile.

"What do you need money for?" Milliardo asked firmly. "Did you get another parking ticket?"

"No, a speeding ticket," she admitted meekly. "I was barely doing 50… but apparently it was a 35mph zone. How was I supposed to know the guy in that beat up Toyota in front of me was an off duty cop." Relena gave her brother one of her most charming smiles, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist. "You will help your little sister out, won't you?"

And sure Milliardo sighed in defeat. "How much is the ticket?"

"180."

"What? For that money I could hire two professional crews," he pointed out.

"Don't worry, I had 130 saved up for a new skirt I wanted to buy, so I really only need another 50."

"Fine! But for that I expect the place to look like you could eat off the floor," he finally agreed.

"I never got that one." Relena frowned slightly. "Why would anyone want to eat off the floor?"

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Author's Note: * Milliardo is using a famous line from an old commercial (I suppose unless you are at least in your mid twenties you won't remember the hair club commercial) to say that he is not only working in a gay club, but also is gay.


	12. Chapter 12

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**The Portrait**

**Part 12**

Taking another sip from his coffee pot Milliardo flipped a new page in the photo album he was looking through. Early this morning after spending the first in, what was now truly his house, he had climbed up to the attic in the search for old pictures. He had found plenty of photos, stored in pretty little boxes or albums like this one. From grainy gray pictures taken around the turn of the last century over more modern black and white photos all the way to the most recent color photographs, they showed his grandparents, his father as a child and on the day he got married, and even him and his sister while they were growing up. Even though family memories were not what he had been searching for, he couldn't help but smile when he looked at them.

There was the first picture of him and Relena, taken only hours after she came home from the hospital. He could still remember the moment when his parents told him that he was going to have a little sister. _I wonder if mom or dad ever told her how I had cried because they wouldn't get me a little brother instead. Or about that time when I was trying to trade her to the neighbors for one of their puppies. _

The sound of the doorbell ringing ripped Milliardo from his memories. He checked his watch. _Almost ten, that must be Treize. _

The older man had called the night before asking if it was alright for him to come by and deliver a little housewarming gift in the morning. Milliardo didn't even realize that he was smiling when he hurried to open the door.

Treize was smiling, too; standing at the top of the stairs with a potted orchid and little wrapped package in his hands. "Good morning, I hope I didn't make you get up earlier than you intended to."

"Not at all," the younger man replied. "I'm not one to sleep away half of my weekend."

"Oh good, me neither. Ah yes, these are for you." The professor handed him the flowers and the gift box.

"Thank you. You really shouldn't have."

"Oh, it's nothing."

"Um… would you like to come in?" Milliardo finally asked and felt somewhat awkward about it. He surely didn't have any problem talking to Treize that night at the club, so why was he feeling nervous? Perhaps it was because of Alexander, he told himself. Even after their little 'heart to heart talk' he couldn't be exactly sure how his ghostly roommate would react. "I'll have to warn you so; it's still all a little disorganized."

"I'd love to." Treize smiled softly. "And don't worry I'm not here to judge your housekeeping skills."

As the two men walked into the house Milliardo noticed with a certain degree of relief that he couldn't feel Alexander's presence around. Apparently he had retreated up into the attic where he seemed to spend most of his day. As long as he wasn't starting to play the piano while Treize was still here, that was just fine with him.

The blond led his guest into the kitchen, the only room downstairs that wasn't packed with moving boxes and crates. He set the orchid down on the sill of one of the large bay windows and looked at the rectangular box in his hand. It was big enough to hold a bottle of wine but wasn't heavy enough for that. "May I open it?" he asked curiously.

"Absolutely," the older man nodded.

Ripping away the white and silver paper Milliardo revealed a box printed with the logo of one of the cities' more upscale house ware stores. For some reason it didn't surprise him much. Treize didn't strike him as the man who had ever set foot into a discount place. He opened the box, eying the item inside with slight puzzlement. "Oh look, it's a…"

"… steak brand," the older man helped him out.

"Oh yes, of course it is." Milliardo couldn't say he had ever heard of a steak brand, but it did actually look like a small version of one of those brand irons he had seen cowboys use to mark their cattle. And this one carried his initials, MP.

Treize seemed very pleased with himself. "Since you already lived in your own apartment before I figured you probably own most of the essential things and I hated to buy you something that you already have. But I remembered seeing a BBQ out in the backyard when I was here the first time, and with that beautiful garden you have you are probably bound to have a lot of summer parties…" he trailed off as he noticed the somewhat 'reserved' look on the younger man's face. "You don't like it, do you? But that's okay. I included a gift receipt so you can go and exchange it for something else without problem."

"No, no, I do want to keep it," Milliardo quickly assured him. "It's very…unique. And you are right; I definitely don't have one of those yet. So," he continued as he set the box down on the counter, "can I get you something, or would you like to take the 'obligatory' tour of the house first?"

It didn't take Treize long to decide. "If you don't mind I'd love to cash in that rain check for a cup of your coffee. I was having breakfast at the hotel this morning and it never ceases to amaze me how they can charge you a fortune for what tastes like last night's dishwater."

The younger man laughed. "In that case, I think you deserve two cups. Why don't you take a seat?"

"I'd be forever in your dept." the professor joked.

So," Milliardo asked as he got the coffee maker ready. "You are still living at the Hyatt? I'm surprised you haven't been able to find a house yet. It seems like I'm seeing for sales signs all the time all over town."

"To tell the truth," Treize admitted. "I haven't put much effort in finding one yet. I'm in no hurry really. Aside from their lousy coffee the Hyatt is not as bad place to live. Convenient too. When I come home after school suite is clean."

"I see," the younger man nodded. While the coffee was brewing he quickly gathered the pictures and albums he had looked through earlier from the table. "I was searching through some old things this morning," he explained.

When one of the photos slipped from his hand and fell to the floor Treize bend down to pick it up. A tiny smirk formed on his lips as he studied the picture.

"How cute, is that you and your sister?"

"Yes, she must have been three months old or so and Mother finally allowed me to hold her."

"She has grown quite a bit and so have you. I met her in class last week, it didn't take an introduction to know you are siblings, she has your personality. And she is quite beautiful."

"Hey," the blond glared at the older man playfully. "She is my little sister, so stay away from her."

"Aside from the fact that she is a little too young for me, I **am **her teacher."

"You are also my teacher."

"Point taken." The professor laughed, and while Milliardo removed some cups and saucers from the cupboard he changed the subject. "So, did you have a big move-in party last night?"

"No, not yet. I'm planning it for next week, the beginning of spring break."

"Ah yes, spring break." Treize nodded. "I almost forgot about it. Are you planning to travel south?"

"With a few thousand other party crazy high school and college students? " Milliardo gave a short laugh. "No thanks, not my idea of fun. Besides, I'm planning on using the free time to spruce up this place; painting and stuff. In fact that's why I was going through those old pictures this morning. I'd really like to restore the house, at least on the outside to its original form. I think it must have been very beautiful once."

"Any luck?"

"Of course not," the young man sighed as he poured the coffee. "Sugar, cream?"

"Just cream or milk, whatever you got will do," Treize told him. "So, where lays the problem?"

"In the fact that color photography didn't exist back then and I can't seem to find any old paintings or such of the house."

"I think, I might be able to help."

Milliardo frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I remember a painting that's in my family's possession, it was passed down through my father's side and as far as I know it still hangs somewhere at one of our summer houses. I'll call my mother and have someone take a good photo of it."

"A painting of this house?" the young man's frown deepened.

Now it was Treize's turn to sigh. "I'm afraid I was not completely honest with you up until now," he admitted as he stirred his coffee absentmindedly.

Milliardo didn't say a word, just looked at him questioningly.

"Let's just say, that day when I knocked at your door for the first time it wasn't quite by accident," Treize explained. "I did forget my cell phone in the taxi cab; that part is true, and that became a most convenient excuse for me, to take a closer look at this house."

"Why?"

The older man gave another sigh. "This is a little more complicated to explain," he admitted. "You see, I didn't pick up teaching history because I hate it. And one's family history is probably the most interesting one of all. Even as a child I was intrigued by stories about my ancestors and the way they lives. That painting I mentioned made me want to see the house it was drawn from. All I knew was that someone in my father's family once used to live in it. When I got older I did some more research about that and finally, after I had to leave active duty I took the time to come here and see it. I fell in love with it the moment I laid eye in it. When one of the neighbors told me that it was standing empty since the last owner died I was delighted. That's when I also visited Marymount for the first time and applied for a teaching job. Unfortunately they didn't have an open position for me back then and I went back to Kings Point. When I finally returned I realized with some degree of disappointment, that someone was already living here. So I wanted to meet you. Needless to say," Treize smirked. "I got over my disappointment very quick when you opened the door."

"Are you always that smooth?" Milliardo snorted in amusement. "But I still don't understand. I bet you can trace your family tree for many generations, there have to be many, many houses in which ancestors of yours resided. So, why did you go through such lengths for this one?"

"I suppose another confession is in order."

"Another one?"

"You asked me about Alexander Khushrenada, right. And I shrugged it off, saying he was a distant relative I barely knew about. The truth is, Alexander was my great grandfather."

"Impossible!" Milliardo exclaimed before he even knew it.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean… Alexander didn't have any children."

"What…how…?" Now Treize was the one looking puzzled.

"Well, I wasn't totally honest with you either, I'm afraid," the younger man admitted. "When I asked you about Alexander, I told you that I got his name off the social page of an old newspaper. Nothing could be further from the truth. Several weeks ago I was going through some old trunks and boxes in the attic and came across a diary that belonged to my great grandfather, along with some letters, a portrait of Alexander and some other personal things. Apparently the two of them were… good friends and from my great grandfather's journal and their correspondence I learned quite a bit about Alexander."

"I see." The professor nodded. "Would you mind telling me what it is you know…or think you know about him?"

"I'm not sure what exactly you want me to tell you, but to make a long story short from what I've read he moved here after a falling out with his family. He served in the navy and while he was at sea, the woman he was betrothed to married his conniving brother. After that he didn't want to have anything to do with either of them. He made himself a new life, made new friends and moved on. Unfortunately it seems he wasn't much luckier at his second attempt of love either. But maybe I'm wrong about that…"

"I'm afraid that's not the only thing you are wrong about. But that's not surprising. The Khushrenada family has always been very diligent in protecting their privacy."

"Well maybe you can enlighten me then and tell me what part I got wrong." Milliardo wasn't sure who he suddenly felt so defensive.

Either Treize didn't notice the cynical undertone in his voice or he just chose to ignore it. "Alexander was the youngest of three brothers, one of which died in his early teens. He followed in his father's footsteps and joined the navy straight out of school. Yes, he was engaged to my great-grandmother Elizabeth von Haagen. It was an arrange marriage that would have benefited both families, but that didn't matter because apparently the two of them were deeply in love. No date for the wedding had been set yet because Alexander had to finish what we would call these days his 'Tour of Duty'. When his ship left for South America it was hard to say when they would be back. Still depending on the wind, maritime could be very unpredictable back then. At best it would have taken them 6 or 7 months and in the worse case he could have been gone for a year… or have never returned. I'm sure Elizabeth intended to wait for her lover for as long as it took, but only a few weeks after he had left she found out that she was carrying his child.  
Back then for an unwed woman to have a child was one of biggest taboos, and it could have ruined her and her family socially. So when she broke the news to her father, he and my great-great-grandfather decided that there was only one thing to do; to keep her condition a secret long enough for her to get married. Since Alexander wasn't around to step up to the plate, his brother did what he considered the honorable thing, married Elizabeth and pretended the child she carried was his…"

Milliardo suddenly felt a deep chill behind his back. _Alexander, _he realized. _I didn't even notice him approach._ _How long has he been here, and how much did he hear? _For a moment there he was worried that the ghost might do something unpredictable. But somehow he didn't really sense any anger from Alexander, more like he was just surprised or shocked. And so the young man asked quietly: "Alexander never knew about it, did he?" he asked quietly.

"No, I don't think he ever found out."

"Why didn't anyone ever tell him?"

Treize shrugged. "Because he was a true Khushrenada, I suppose; hotheaded, and proud to the bone. He stormed out of the house and never spoke to anyone in the family again. Also I believe that his father did not want anyone to speak of it as long as he lived. So after my great-great grandfather died, Julian tried to contact his brother but every letter he sent was returned unopened. And then a few years later Alexander suddenly died and after that there was no reason for anyone ever to know the secret. Julian raised his brother's son as his own together with the two children he and Elizabeth had together."

_Oh Alexander, _Milliardo's' heart went out to him. _I wish there was anything I could say or do._

He turned his head only to realize that the presence behind him had slipped away as unnoticed as it had appeared. _I suppose even a ghost needs some alone time after this kind of news. I can hardly even imagine how he must feel right now. He had a son he never knew of and a grandson as well. But wait… that would mean…"_

"So then, you really are Alexander's great-grandson?"

"Absolutely," Treize nodded. "That's why I'm carrying his name. And I have been told that I have his looks and personality as well," he added with a tiny smirk.

"Oh, you have no idea," Milliardo mumbled, earning himself a questioning look from the other man.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing… just talking to myself."

The older man took a sip from his coffee before he looked up and asked: "Milliardo, earlier you mentioned something about a diary and some letters and pictures. Is there any way I could take a look at them? I really don't know as much about him as I would like and I'd love to find out more."

"Um… yes I suppose so," Milliardo kind of hesitated. The diary letters were up in the attic; for some reason Alexander always returned them there, perhaps to safeguard them like he had for so many years. He wasn't sure if he wanted to disturb the ghost right now, but then again maybe it was a good idea to check in on him. "I'll go get them."

"Thanks."

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Author's Note:


	13. Chapter 13

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**The Portrait**

**Part 13**

"Alexander?!" Milliardo asked tentatively as he pushed the door to the attic open. "Are you alright?"

_What a stupid question was that?_ the young man berated himself the moment the words had left his lips. _How could he be alright after what he just heard?_

"I'm so sorry. I can't even begin to imagine how you must feel right now. There is probably not much I can do, but if nothing else…I'm here now and you don't have to be alone anymore."

Ghostly fingers ruffled his silvery tresses in a now almost familiar manner, and Milliardo smiled softly. "This might not be much but at least you do have a chance to get to know your great-grandson. He seems to be a pretty decent guy too, don't you think? By the way, he…Treize asked to read Octavian's diary and the letters you sent to him. I don't see any harm in it, but I want to make sure it is alright with you. After all, I know those things are precious to you, and very personal. So if you don't want me to take them downstairs let me know, somehow and I'll tell him I didn't find them."

As he waited for any kind of reaction, the diary that had been sitting on a trunk near the window suddenly shifted, as though it was picked up by an invisible hand. It hovered in midair for a second or two then moved toward the young man, until he could reach for it.

Milliardo took it that Alexander approved. "Thank you." He smiled softly as he reached for the small, leather bound book and the letters that were tugged between the pages. He turned to leave, but before he even set his foot onto the stair he heard a noise behind his back, a rustling and then a quiet thump akin to something falling to the ground. He turned his head to see a folded piece of paper at the foot of his grandfather's old writing desk. _Another letter? _

Curiously the young man turned back and bent down to pick it up. But before his fingertips touched the white paper it moved, just out of his reach. Frowning a little, Milliardo tried again, with the same result. He straightened, crooking his head in slight puzzlement. "You don't want me to take this one?"

Just as in confirmation the letter moved a tiny bit further.

"Then why did you show it to me? Oh, I think I understand now; this one is only for me?! Alright, then I'll come back for it later, after Treize has left."

#

"Sorry, I made you wait," Milliardo apologized to his guest as he entered the kitchen again. "It took me a while to find them."

"No problem at all. I helped myself to that second cup of coffee you promised, while you were gone." The older man smirked.

"I'm glad you did. Should I make more?"

"Oh, no I think I had all the caffeine I can take for one morning." Treize gazed at the diary in Milliardo's hand. "So that's the journal you spoke off?"

"Yes, it is. I put the letters inside not to lose them," the younger man confirmed as he put the book down in front of him.

"It's kind of strange," the professor admitted, letting his fingertips run over its soft leather binding. "Part of me is excited but at the same time I feel like I am about to intrude on someone's most personal moments and I ask myself if I have the right to do so."

Settling down at the kitchen table across from him Milliardo smiled. "I think it's alright; somehow I have the feeling they'd want you to read it."

"You think so?"

"I'm positive."

"Say," Treize suddenly looked up. "Your great-grandmother, her name wouldn't by any chance have been Olivia, would it?"

"Olivia?" the blond echoed. "No, why?"

"Just a silly thought. Amongst the things I found of my great-grandfather's, was a letter written by someone to inform Julian of his brother's death and asking where to send his personal belongings to. The painting I was talking about earlier was probably part of those 'personal belongings' and that's how it got into my family's possession. In any case," Treize continued, "the signature on the letter was illegible; the ink was completely smeared. I assume someone was crying while reading it. From what was left I always thought it said Olivia, assuming that it was the new woman in Alexander's life. The last name started most likely with a P and that's pretty much all I could tell."

Milliardo gave a semi-amused huff. "You might not be as far off as you think."

"How so?"

"That letter was probably written by my great-grandfather. His name was Octavian."

"Octavian Peacecraft, yes that could be it. The two of them were close?"

"Closer than you might think. Octavian was Alexander's lover."

"Lovers!?" Treize echoed, but he didn't sound as surprised as Milliardo would have expected. "Of course that makes perfect sense. It would explain a lot."

"Like what?"

"Well for one thing I figured that the letter writer had to be someone very close to my great-grandfather to have access to his most personal possessions. Like I said, I assumed it was a woman but the handwriting had a rather masculine touch to it. And that would also explain why he willed this house and most of his assets to your family. One time my grandfather found me going through Alexander's things again. I told him I was determined to find out who the woman was he had lived with. I asked if he wasn't curious, since she would have been pretty much like his step-mother. Grandfather laughed and said something like: 'Good luck, from what I've heard my father was not really a woman's man.' I assumed what he was trying to say was that Alexander was not a 'one-woman' man and I would probably have a hard time finding the right one. Say, Milliardo, you wouldn't happen to have a picture, would you; of your great-grandfather I mean."

"In fact I do." The young man rose and stepped over to the counter where he had put down the photo albums and boxes. After a few moments of searching he pulled out a little black-and white photo. "This was taken when he was about 18 or 19 years old."

"Fascinating," Treize studied the small picture. "He looks just like you. Well, except for the hair."

"Actually," Milliardo told him as he slipped back into his seat, "He used to wear his hair long once; his father made him cut it."

"Are you serious?" the older man cringed. "That's… terrible. Your father wouldn't do that, I hope."

Milliardo laughed quietly. "He tried. But after some muscle flexing on both sides, he agreed to accept my 'freedom of expression' as long as I would not permanently disfigure my body with tattoos or by putting holes into places god where didn't intend them to be."

"I take it you accepted his proposal," the older man chuckled.

"Umm…Let's just say I try not to let my father see me shirtless these days."

"Oh?!" Treize raised one curious eyebrow but didn't actually go as far as to ask why.

Milliardo checked his watch then looked at the professor. "I suppose you won't need me while you read these things," he gestured toward the diary still lying unopened on the table. "So, if you don't mind I'll jump in the shower very quick."

"Go right ahead," Treize nodded. "I'll be perfectly fine by myself. And take your time; this will keep me occupied for a while."

"Alright then. When I get back I'll show you the rest of the house, and the garden."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"Oh yeah." The blond had already turned to leave but held his step just inside the kitchen door. "If anything… umm…strange happens, please call me."

"Anything strange?" the professor echoed slightly puzzled, but Milliardo chose not to elaborate.

#

Still sitting at the table, with his nose buried in the pages of the journal, Treize suddenly looked up and frowned slightly. For a moment there he could have sworn that he wasn't alone in the room. From upstairs he could hear the sound of water running through the pipes, indicating that Milliardo was still in the shower, and as far as he knew there was no one else in the house. Shaking his head in semi-amusement he flipped the page and went back to reading, but the feeling of being watched remained.

About ten or fifteen minutes later Milliardo returned, his towel dried hair still damp from the shower. The fresh smell of fruit and sandalwood surrounded him like a fragrant cloud.

"Was everything alright?" he asked.

"Yes, of course." The older man nodded. "Say, Milliardo, do you have a cat?"

"A cat? No, why?"

"Oh, nothing." Treize laughed it off, feeling somewhat silly. How was he going to explain that he thought someone was watching him without sounding like he was nuts. "I just thought I heard a noise," he lied instead.

"Hm…," Milliardo shrugged. "Who knows? Old houses always are noisy, right?"

"Right."

"So are you ready for me to show you the rest of the house?"

"Absolutely." As he rose to his feet Treize closed the diary on the table. "I was wondering," he asked, "Could I take the journal with me when I leave and finish reading it at home?"

Milliardo hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't trust the other man, and if it was up to him…These letters and the diary seemed to be very important to Alexander; he had watched over them for decades, and he didn't think the ghost would want them to leave the house. Luckily Treize understood just from the look on his face, and he didn't have to say anything.

"I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. Just forget I asked, alright."

"Well then," the younger man nodded. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Milliardo let his guest first through the rooms downstairs and then the second floor. He avoided the attic, didn't see any reason to take Treize all the way up there.

"This house is beautiful," the professor remarked as they walked into the last of the upstairs rooms. "This…" he looked around; large build in bookcases on one wall, an ornate fireplace across from them, a double wide window to their right. "…must have been his study." A soft smile crossed his face. "I can see him spending a lot of time in here, sitting by the fireplace, reading with his dog by his feet. His desk was probably standing right beneath the window where he could sit and write in the warm afternoon sun."

"Yes, yes…" Milliardo agreed. "I can see that, too. In fact I was thinking of turning the room into a study again. It would be a shame to rip out those wonderful wooden bookshelves. I do want to get rid of the wallpaper in here but I like the wood floor. I'll probably just restore it. Which reminds me… do you have any plans for this afternoon?"

"Hmm… Not in particular, why?"

"I'll be heading downtown to pick up some paint samples and look at carpeting and such. If that doesn't sound too boring for you, would you like to come along?"

"I'd love to," Treize smirked. "I can't imagine anything to be boring together with you. In fact, let's leave early and grab lunch on the way, my treat. I found this little authentic Japanese restaurant… you like Japanese?"

"I'm afraid my knowledge of their food is pretty much limited to sushi, tempura and a couple of different kinds of sake."

"In that case we really have to check out the Sagami. Their sushi is great and they have a huge selection of sake, but also have the best soba I've had in a long time."

"I had no idea you are such an expert in Japanese cuisine."

"Far from an expert," Treize laughed modestly. "But I did develop a taste for it while I was stationed in Hokkaido."

"You were stationed in Japan? Interesting, you have to tell me about that… over lunch perhaps."

"I'm happy to."

#

Treize had to leave at 4 due to some prior engagements, so they decided to drive separately, Milliardo following the older man to the restaurant he had been talking about. After a long and absolutely delicious lunch the two men visited about a dozen paint and carpet stores.

"I'm sorry I have to leave," the professor said as he walked Milliardo back to his car afterward. "If I had known …"

"Don't worry about it. I had a great time, and we can always do this again, right?"

"How many more paint samples do you need?" Treize teased.

The younger man laughed. "I was talking about lunch."

"Of course, but I meant to ask… are you planning on hiring a company to do the painting?"

"Just for the façade, I think. There is no way I can do that myself. But the rest of the house will be a 'do-it-yourself' project."

"Do you need any help?"

Leaning against his car, Milliardo smirked. "Why, are you volunteering?"

"In fact I am. I'd love to help you paint. I'm sure it would be a lot of fun. Although I have never done anything like it before."

"Obviously not," the blond chuckled. "You know, painting is hard work and it can be a very messy affair."

"I'll pay you for any mess I make," Treize offered quickly.

Milliardo's chuckle turned into a deep, bubbling laugh. "Let me get that straight, you are offering to pay **me** for allowing you to help me. That's a new one. But seriously, I appreciate any help I can get."

"Wonderful," the older man beamed like a child that had gotten permission to open a Christmas present. "Let me know when you need me, and I'll be there."

#

Milliardo was still smiling when he walked through the front door, a few dozen 1x1 foot carpet sections and several paint sample charts under his arm.

"Alexander!" he called out excitedly as he headed into the kitchen and put them down on the large pinewood table. "I need you to help me decide what colors we are going to use for which rooms."

When he looked up, his gaze wandered out the large bay window and he noticed the empty spot on the shelf where Treize's orchid pot had been sitting when they left. His brows knitted in a mixture of surprise and displeasure. "Alexander!" he called out more firmly. "What happened to that flower…" he looked around. "…and the present I got from Treize?"

The lid of the trashcan popped open and sure enough right there in the middle was the orchid as well as the steak iron, box and all. His frown deepened. "You still don't like him; even though he is your great-grandson? Or…" Suddenly realization hit him. "Could it be that you are jealous at him?" There was no confirmation needed, because it was the only thing that made sense.

"Alexander," Milliardo's voice was firm but not angry. "Things can't go on like this. I am not Octavian, and Treize is not your rival. You need to learn to get along with him, because he will probably spend a lot more time here in the future. I think I really like him. Please, don't make me choose between him and you."

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Author's Note:


	14. Chapter 14

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 14**

"Right here against the wall," Milliardo directed as he and Duo Maxwell carried the large king-size mattress from his bedroom into the adjacent room which he was using more or less for storage at the moment. Meanwhile Wufei was following them with one of the nightstands.

The young man had asked his friends to come over and help him move the furniture from the rooms he and Treize would be working on later today. He felt kind of bad about having to ask the two of them for yet another favor. But considering that he never knew how Alexander might react, he was somewhat wary about letting strangers into the house. Duo and Wufei already knew about the ghost and they were the only people, besides Milliardo himself, he seemed comfortable enough around to actually make his presence known.

They propped the mattress upright against the wall and used the heavy nightstand as a buffer to prevent it from sliding down or tumbling over. Milliardo turned just in time to see a large floor lamp float across the corridor.

"Bring it in here, Alexander," he ordered as he gazed around quickly for a free, save spot. "Put it over there to the left."

In the hallway the lamp changed directions.

"The other left," Milliardo directed. "Yes right there, Alexander. Thank you." He walked back into the bedroom to take a look around, then turned toward his friends. "That's it. Thanks a bunch guys."

"It's nothing," Wufei made a dismissive gesture. "I'm sorry we can't stay and help you paint." Both he and Duo had to work today. During spring break, with more than half of the students gone, those who did stay behind usually pulled double shifts. It was a nice way to make some extra cash.

"That's alright," the older youth told him, as the three of them headed back downstairs. "You guys still have time for a beer?"

"Always," Duo grinned.

Milliardo stepped into the kitchen to grab a couple of bottles from the fridge then followed his friends into the living room. "Besides, it's not like I'm going to be doing this all by myself. Professor Khushrenada volunteered to help, he will be here in an hour."

"And not to mention you also have…" The braided young man gazed warily around the room. "Is he here right now?"

The blond shook his head. "No, he probably went back to the attic." For some reason it seemed like he was the only person who could actually feel the ghost presence.

Popping his beer open as he dropped into the dark leather couch Duo asked. "So, the professor really IS his great-grandson?

Milliardo nodded. He had told his friends everything he had found out that Saturday when Treize came to see him.

"That's so far out."

"Yeah," the older youth agreed.

"Hmm…" Wufei just stared at his beer-bottle, apparently lost in thought. Milliardo had learned a long time ago that the young man wasn't much of a talker. He usually only spoke when he really had something to say; the total opposite of Duo Maxwell. Sometimes he wondered how the two of them managed to become such close friends.

"I wonder what other 'secrets' there are. Have you found anything more in the diary?"

"No, unfortunately Octavian's entries have become less and less frequent and then stopped altogether. What he wrote was mostly about Alexander; about how much he missed him when he was at sea, and what they did when they were together."

"No indication of why they broke it off, and he suddenly got married?"

"No, on the contraire," Milliardo shook his head. "By the way, last week Alexander revealed another letter to me."

"What did it say?" Duo looked at him curiously.

"Read it yourself." The young man reached out, pulled a folded piece of paper from between the pages of a magazine sitting on the couch table, and handed it to his friend.

Duo unfolded the paper and cleared his throat.

"My Dearest Octavian..." he read.

"You can skip the beginning." Milliardo told him. "In fact skip all the way to 'I have wonderful news.'"

_**"I have wonderful news. This morning I received a telegraph from my lawyer. Apparently the Foresters accepted our offer. Now all that is left to do is to sign the papers and we will become the proud owners of their well-established horse farm.**_

_**  
I am so overjoyed; I had to tell you right away. Can you imagine anything more wonderful than spending the rest of our lives together raising horses and enjoying the finer things in life?**_

_**  
I know leaving home will be a big step for you, and I can imagine that you are more than just a little anxious. But I assure you, you that there is nothing to worry about. Remember, I'll be always there for you. Besides, in the south people are more carefree and far less 'nosy' and concerned with their neighbor's matters than in the cities up north. No one will bother us, or even care. As far as the neighbors will be concerned we will be two business partners working the farm together. And if you are worried about your father finding you, I also looked into the possibility of changing your family name. My lawyer assured me that it could be done without any problem for the right amount of money. As long as we can just keep things quiet for a little longer…"**_

"They were planning on running away together!" Duo concluded, as looked up from the letter.

"Do you think Octavian got cold feet?" Wufei asked.

Milliardo shrugged. "I can't say I could blame him. Sure, Alexander broke with his family too, but under very different circumstances. He was financially secure, had a carrier ahead of him and not to mention was several years older. Compared to him Octavian seemed still very childlike and immature."

"Not to mention what would happen if someone found out that they were more than just 'business partners'." Wufei pointed out. "I mean it is hard enough to fight prejudice these days. But back then, especially in the South…" he trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.

"Still, I wonder what happened." The blond remarked thoughtfully. "Look at the date on that letter. It was written only 8 months before Octavian got married."

"Hmm…" Duo grunted, but he didn't seem have any idea either.

As Milliardo checked his watch he suddenly realized that it was already later than he had thought. "Guys, not to be rude or anything, but don't you have jobs to get to?"

"Are you trying to get rid of us?" the braided youth grinned.

"Got me there. Treize will be here any minute and…"

"Oh…" His friend's grin widened. "It's Treize now? Since when are the two of you on a first name basis? Could it be he is interested in more than just painting with you?"

"I don't think that's any of your business, Maxwell."

"Fine, be that way. I don't have to be at work before 11, so I think I'll just hang out here a little longer. Mind if I grab another beer?"

Milliardo glared at his friend, but before he could say anything Wufei was already on his feet and grabbed the other youth by his braided tail. "Don't worry; I'll make sure he leaves even if I have to drag him behind me by his braid all the way back to the dorms."

"Thanks I appreciated that."

"Ouch," Duo protested. "I can walk on my own. I was only kidding, you know."

Milliardo laughed quietly as he walked his friends to the front door and locked it behind them. He decided to go upstairs and check once more that everything was ready, but barely reached the first landing when the doorbell rang. He headed back downstairs only to find Duo and Wufei waiting for him at the door.

"He forgot his baseball cap." The Chinese youth explained with a gesture at his friend.

Milliardo glared at Duo, convinced that he had done it on purpose. "Let me get it."

He found said hat on the couch where his friend had been sitting.

"Anything else?" he asked as he handed it back to Duo.

"No, not that I can think of." The other youth gave him a cheerful smile. "See you soon."

"Not too soon, I hope." Milliardo grumbled quietly as he closed the door again and headed back upstairs. This time he made it almost all the way to the second floor when the sound of the doorbell once again called out to him.

_Maxwell, I'm going to kill you! _He hurried back downstairs, taking three steps at a time and ripped the door open. "What now?"

On the other side of the threshold Treize Khushrenada blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh Treize, I'm sorry. I thought…" he grinned sheepishly. "I had a couple friends over helping me move the furniture. One of them kept forgetting stuff."

"Mister Maxwell and Mister Chang?" Treize asked. "So it was them I saw getting into a truck just when I pulled up."

"Ah yes, you know them. They are both taking history, that's right. But please come in."

"Thank you." The older man nodded as he walked into the house.

Milliardo closed the door and as he turned he looked the professor up and down. Treize was wearing a light gray, Armani suit with a deep red silk shirt.

"You are not planning on painting in _that_, are you?"

"Oh no," Treize gestured at the small duffle bag in his hand. "I brought a change of old clothes. I just didn't want to wear them on the way."

"Ah, right," the blond smirked. "You did have to cross the street after parking on the other side. Someone could have seen you."

The older man gave Milliardo a firm look. "Are you mocking me?" he asked, but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed the displeased sound in his voice. "For your information, I also had to take the elevator all the way from the top floor to the lobby and I had to cross the parking lot at the Hyatt, as well."

"Yes, of course that makes all the difference." Milliardo chuckled. "If you want to change, let me show you to the bathroom."

#

"Is this better?"

Milliardo looked up from the bucket of paint he had been stirring and nearly let out a whistle. Treize had stepped out of the small downstairs bathroom, wearing a pair of camouflage khakis – most likely left over from his time in the military, and a greenish brown T-shirt that was probably also was government issued. The shirt hugged his body, showing off the other man's remarkable physic; a perfectly chiseled chest and arms that were muscular without being bulky.

"Much better." _Got to love a guy in uniform. _

"I haven't worn these in a while. You think the shirt is too tight?"

"Too tight? No…" Milliardo somehow managed not to smirk. "It's perfect. But what about the shoes?" he gestured at the black loafers that most definitely did not come from an army depot.

"I meant to pack some tennis shoes but forgot to," the older man admitted with a sheepish smile.

"You want to borrow a pair of mine; looks like we have about the same size."

"No, that's okay."

"Are you sure? Those are Gucci, 800 bucks the pair, aren't they?"

"A grand actually, I custom ordered them. But it's not like I'm going to paint with my feet, right? I'll just be careful."

"Fine then, let's get started, shall we?"

"Did you decide what colors to use in which room?"

The younger man nodded as he gestured at the color-charts he had set up on the table. "I did. I had a friend help me with it."

"Is that so?" Treize took a look the papers and nodded. "Is he an interior designer or something?"

"No, but he knows this house very well."

"Well in any case, he has good taste it seems. So, where are we going to start?"

"The bedroom upstairs. It definitely needs a good priming. And while it dries we can start taking off the wallpaper in the study," Milliardo explained.

Treize gave another, acknowledging nod. "You want me to take one of those paint buckets upstairs?"

"Please."

As he followed the other man, carrying the second bucket, Milliardo smiled softly as he studied him from behind. "Are you working out?" he asked.

Treize turned his head. "Not as much as I used to when I was still in the service, but yes I try to keep myself in shape."

"It's working. Looking good."

"Well thank you. I'm glad you think so. Would you like to get all hot and sweaty with me tonight?"

Milliardo blinked. _Come again?!_

"The Hyatt has excellent working-out facilities, including a rock climbing wall, you see. I have a standing reservation for Thursday evenings."

"Rock climbing, huh? Sounds like fun."

"Unless of course…" Treize flashed a grin back at the younger man. "You'd prefer to get hot and sweaty in a way that doesn't involve dumbbells and rock walls."

Milliardo gave an amused huff. "Thanks, but I think I'll stick with rock walls… for now."

#

"That should do it." Treize put his paint roller down on the plastic tray he was holding and looked around.

"Done already?" Milliardo asked. He was priming the crown molding and baseboards while the other man had worked on the walls. "Are you sure you have never done this before?"

The professor laughed. "No, but moving a roller up and down the wall doesn't exactly require a degree in rocket science. Oh wait, I missed a spot there in the corner. Let me fix that. "

"This is only the primer, you know, it doesn't have to be perfect."

"If we do it, we might as well do it right," Treize insisted as he already pulled his ladder around to the corner in question.

"Well, I'm about done here too. Then we can start taking down that wallpaper next door."

"How exactly **do** you remove old wallpaper?" the tawny-haired man asked curiously.

"Soaking it with hot steam will loosen the old glue. Or at least that's what the guy at the store told me. I rented a steam machine for that." Milliardo put down his paintbrush and got off his knees. "I probably should fill it and turn it on now. It will take a while to heat up I can imagine."

"Alright, I'll finish up this little spot here and be with you in a minute."

Milliardo had read the instructions for the steamer earlier. It was really only a matter of filling it with water and a letting it heat. The biggest problem had been to find a long enough extension cord, but he had taken care of that too. He had just finished pouring the water into the small tank and was securing the screw top when he heard a splash from the bedroom and then Treize cursing quietly.

Alarmed the younger man ran into the room. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Hopping around on one foot, with the other dripping white paint all over the plastic floor covering, the professor grimaced. "I stepped into the paint tray," he admitted. "And I could have sworn I put it far enough to the side when I climbed onto the ladder. I guess I was wrong."

_Or maybe you weren't. Alexander?! Please tell me this was not your handy-work. _Milliardo had felt the ghost's presence on and off ever since Treize arrived, as though he was checking in on them ever so often. _This is not funny, you know._

"Your shoes, on man, that's terrible."

"Oh, don't worry. Primer is water-based, isn't it? I'm sure, if I clean most of it off right now, they can be restored. I'll call my shoe store this afternoon."

"At least let me pay for that."

"Absolutely not!" Treize put up his hand to emphasize his statement. "However, I might have to take you up on your offer, and borrow a pair of shoes from you, after all."

"No problem. The bathroom is right down the hall if you want to clean up while I get them."

The older man nodded as he slipped off the paint-soaked loafer. "Thanks."

#

The master bathroom Milliardo had directed him to, had two sinks, but at the moment they were both filled with paint-cans, brushes and rollers. The bathtub-shower combination would have to do, Treize decided. Making sure that he faucet and not the shower was turned, he twisted the little chrome knops till the water was just right in temperature, then started to clean his shoe with a damp paper towel. As he had expected, the wet paint came off quite easily, although he couldn't be sure if the leather was going to be affected by the moisture.

As he was leaning over the tub to clean his hands and forearms the tawny-haired man heard a quiet squeaking sound, as though the door behind him was slowly being pushed open. Assuming that it was Milliardo, he continued to clean himself. He was just putting the soap back into its little ceramic dish when the shower above him turned on suddenly and unexpectedly. Startled Treize jumped back but not before being soaked to the bone.

A string of foul words that would have made any sailor blush left his lips. _This is not my day._

"Milliardo? Milliardo, do you have a second?"

The younger man dashed into the bathroom only seconds later, staring at him in surprise. "What… what happened?"

"I took a shower."

"With your clothes on?"

"Doesn't everyone?" he asked, as tough of sarcasm in his voice, before letting out a sigh. "I don't know what happened. One moment I was washing my hands under the faucet and at the next the shower turned on by itself. You got a towel?"

"Oh, yes of course."

Milliardo turned to pull a couple of cream colored bath-towels from the small linen closet above the toilet. _Alexander Khushrenada!! I told you already, this is not funny. Well, maybe a little, but that's not the point. I want you to stop it at once. Do you hear me? No more practical jokes or I swear I'll find a way to lock you in that attic. _"I'm so sorry. I guess I'll have a plumber check it out. I could get you a sweat suit or something to wear, but maybe it would be better to call it a day and start fresh tomorrow."

"Are you sure? That will throw us behind schedule, won't it?"

"What schedule? I really don't have one. We have all the time we want, to finish this."

"Well in that case," Treize nodded in agreement. "Let's call it a day. We are still on for tonight, to go rock climbing, right?"

"Absolutely. I'm looking forward to it."

"Great. Let's work out and then have dinner together."

"Sounds like a deal." Milliardo smiled.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Okay, so far it's Alexander 2, Treize 0, but who is counting. :)


	15. Chapter 15

Considering that it is Valentine's day, I think Treize and Milliardo deserve at least a little TLC.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 15**

"So, how about another climb?" Sitting on the hardwood floor, Milliardo took another sip of water from his plastic bottle as he crooked his head and looked at the other man. He was wearing only a pair of black jogging pants and a tank top which was by now soaked in sweat. "We do have time for one more, don't we?"

"Time is not the problem…" Treize told him.

"But?"

"But you might regret it tomorrow morning."

"Probably," the blond agreed with a smirk. He already could feel his muscles burn, but he had too much fun to stop now. When Treize had told him about this place he didn't expect much more than a 15 to 20 feet wall or boulder but what he found was a rock climbing cave with cracks, arêtes and dihedrals, at least 35 feet in its highest points. Challenging yes, but also unbelievably fun. After signing a waver they were allowed to climb on their own; the gym was providing all the necessary equipment.

"Then why push it?" the older man ask. "We can always come back next week."

"I don't know, maybe I'm a masochist." Milliardo's smirk turned into a wide grin as he put down his water bottle and go to his feet. "This time let's try the red route."

To make things more interesting one could follow several marked routes each of them varying in their degree of difficulty, with the red one definitely being a more demanding one.

"Very well, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"Let's make this a little more interesting," Milliardo suggested. "Last one at the top pays for dinner."

"You are challenging me?"

"You don't **have** to accept."

The older man threw his nose up with a playful huff. "A Khushrenada walking away from a challenge; that, my dear Milliardo, will never happen."

The younger man laughed. "Then what are we waiting for. The evening doesn't get any younger, you know."

He picked up the harness he had dropped to the floor earlier and slipped into it. From the corner of his eyes he could see the professor do the same. The older man was definitely the more experienced climber of them and Milliardo didn't really think he had much of a chance to make it to the top first. So why did he challenge Treize? Simple. He still felt guilty about the little tricks Alexander had played, and paying for dinner would make him feel at least a little better about it. Treize was somewhat old fashion when it came to dating, and he would never allow him to pick up the bill, otherwise.

"You want to go first?" the older man asked, and he nodded. Since it wasn't possible for two people to climb the same route together they had to take turns, timing how long it took for each of them to reach the last of the red marker.

Treize kept his eye on his wrist watch. "Ready!" he commanded. "Go!"

#

"You lost on purpose, didn't you?" Milliardo accused as the two men walked to the elevator that would take them from the underground level where the gym was located to Treize's suite at the hotel's highest floor.

"I did not!" The older man sounded almost offended by that suggestion.

The blond frowned slightly. He still found it hard to believe that he actually managed to beat Treize by a good thirty seconds. As they stepped into the elevator however he noticed that the other man was favoring his left foot.

"Are you alright?"

Treize turned his head. "I'm fine, why?"

"You are limping."

"It's nothing," the other man assured him, but Milliardo believe that.

"You are limping," he repeated with a bit more emphasis this time. "Did you get hurt when we were climbing?"

Treize finally sighed as he pushed the button for the top floor and the elevator doors closed with a quiet swoosh. "It's an old injury," he explained. "It flares up every once in a while when I push myself too hard."

_So that's why he wasn't able to beat me. _"Why didn't you say anything? I mean I'd have…"

"**That's** exactly why."

"I beg your pardon?"

The elevator car stopped and Treize sighed again. "As soon as people find out that I had been injured they start treating me like I'm an invalid, so I try not to bring it up. I don't need people to tell me what I can and can't do. I know my own body well enough to know my limitations."

"I'm sorry; I wasn't implying that you didn't."

"Don't worry about it." The professor opened the door to his suite with an electronic keycard. "Why don't you take the first shower?" he suggested. "The bathroom is straight ahead and to the left. There are fresh towels under the sink, and there is also an extra bathrobe."

"Thanks," Milliardo nodded. He definitely needed a shower right now. With the duffle bag that held a change of clothes in his hand he stepped through the door Treize had indicated.

The bathroom was large and luxurious, set in black marble and chrome, but that was to expect from one of the most expensive suites in one of the most expensive hotels in town. To his left two steps led up to a raised area with a set-in hot tub, and in the furthest right corner was a shower large enough to accommodate two or three people comfortably. Double sinks beneath a mirrored wall were made from the same black and white stone as the floor and tiling. The white furniture set a sharp yet pleasant contrast.

The young man turned on the shower, pulled two fluffy and oversized bath towels from one of the cabinets and started to undress. Outside the door he could hear Treize walk around then talk to someone, probably on the phone. But through the sound of the running water he couldn't make out what he was saying. After testing the water with his hand, Milliardo removed the hair band that had been holding his ponytail together and stepped under the warm jet. With a content sigh he closed his eyes and let the water massage his broad shoulders and back.

#

Treize was sitting in the living area, reading a newspaper when Milliardo stepped out of the bathroom, his long silvery hair still damp and open.

"Your turn," he told the other man. "I hope I didn't make you wait too long."

"Don't worry about it, as you can see I have been keeping myself busy." The professor folded the paper up and put it down on the glass coffee table as he rose to his feet. "It's still a little early for dinner, but I ordered some appetizers. So, when room service knocks while I'm in the shower will you let them in? I left the tip on the table."

"Yes, of course."

"Oh yes," Treize held his step at the bathroom door and looked back at Milliardo. "There are a couple bottles of wine in the kitchenette, could you pick one and open it. Unless of course, you'd prefer champagne instead. There should be a bottle in the fridge, too."

"Wine is fine," the younger man assured him.

The so called kitchenette was almost as large as the full size kitchen in his old apartment; equipped with everything but an actual stove. Still there was a microwave, a toaster oven and even a small wine refrigerator build into one of the cabinets. It was filled with an assortment of red wines and a few bottles of white. Milliardo was still reading the labels, trying to decide which one to pick when someone knocked at the door to the suite.

"Room service!" a male voice announced from the other side of the door.

_Excellent, _Milliardo thought as he walked over to unlock it. _Maybe seeing what kind of appetizers Treize ordered will help. _

"Good evening, Sir." A young man, clad in a dark blue uniform pushed a small serving cart into the room. He put two platters covered with silver domes onto the table and bowed. "I hope you enjoy."

"Thank you." Milliardo handed him the money Treize had left out and he bowed once more before retreating.

The blond waited until he was alone again before he curiously lifted one of the serving domes after the other, checking out the delicious morsels beneath them. He found an assortment of fruits and vegetables paired with various cheeses under one of them while the other plate held thinly sliced cuts of grilled meats drizzled with a… black and white truffle sauce, he recognized after tasting it carefully with his little finger.

Milliardo was no wine expert but even he knew that the delicate taste of some foods could be easily overpowered by a heavy or fruity red wine. So, just to be sure he decided to open a bottle of dry white Sauvignon instead.

He could hear the shower being turned off as he carried the bottle and a couple of wine glasses into the sitting room. Dropping down in one of the soft white leather chairs the young man picked up the paper Treize had read earlier. He thumbed through it for a few moments, - he never was much of a newspaper reader, relying more on TV and internet for information- before folding it up again. As he put it back down on the table his eyes wandered to the plates with the appetizers. He lifted the dome once again, setting it down next to the plate as he reached for a slice of pear topped with a blue veined cheese.

"Oh my, doesn't this look scrumptious?!"

The professor's voice reached him from behind just as he put the piece into his mouth. Caught off guard, Milliardo nearly jumped. He quickly swallowed, blushing slightly as he turned around. Treize was wearing a pristine white bathrobe with the hotels' logo.

"I… was just…"

"Checking if it tasted as good as it looks?" the older man smiled.

"I'm… sorry." Milliardo felt rather sheepish, like a child being caught with its hand in the cookie jar.

"Don't be," Treize laughed. "Instead, tell me what you think?"

"It's delicious."

"In that case, I think I'll have a piece too before I go get dressed." He gestured toward the door to the master bedroom. "If you would be so kind, I have lotion on my hands."

"Umm…Of course."

The blonde picked up the hors d'oeuvres with his right, holding the other hand beneath it to prevent the pear's sweet juices to drop onto the carpet as he closed the distance to the other man's mouth. As the professor leaned in to meet him half ways, Milliardo's nose was hit by the fruity smell of shampoo mixed with the musky sandalwood scent of cologne and something else that was uniquely Treize.

The professor's lips parted, and the younger man watched, almost mesmerized as he savored the little delicacy. Treize licked his lips, catching a small drop of sweet juice that trickled from the corner of his mouth before it could run down his chin. Milliardo swallowed, quickly averting his gaze downward, but that didn't help much either. Although Treize's robe was held together by a belt, the v-shaped opening gave the young man a good view of his chest and abdomen, all the way down to the belly button. _Oh god, he is sexy!_

In a little room in the very back of his mind, a little warning voice tried to object. _Shut up! _Milliardo slammed the door shut, effectively cutting off its protest, as he leaned in to capture the professor's mouth with his own.

One of Treize's eyebrows jumped up in surprise even as he returned the kiss, his lips parting invitingly.

The younger man moaned softly. He could taste the sweetness of pears on those luscious lips, mixed with the gorgonzola's savory taste and a slight hint of minty toothpaste. One of Treize's hand's came up cupping the back of his head. Slender fingers buried themselves in his hair. Milliardo closed his eyes; another moan escaped him as his tongue explored the other man's mouth.

When the two men finally broke their kiss they were both panting. Treize's lips curved into a tiny smirk.

"Well, wasn't that an unexpected yet pleasant change of events?"

"Unexpected?" Milliardo teased. "Admit it; you only took me up here to have your way with me?"

Treize's piercing blue eyes met his and for a moment they just studied each other. "Would you be very disappointed if I told you that indeed I was hoping we would share a little more than just a meal tonight?"

The younger man gave a deep, sultry laugh. "I think I'd be more disappointed if you'd tell me you brought me up here to show me your stamp collection."

"You don't like stamps?" Treize joked.

"Let's just say…" Milliardo's hand slipped into the front of the professor's robe. His finger roamed over soft, flawless skin exploring a perfectly chiseled chest until they found the firm little nub they were looking for. "There are things I'd like a lot more."

Treize drew a sharp breath as the young man's fingertips rubbed teasingly against his nipple. His right hand came up to softly caress Milliardo's face; his thumb brushing gently over full, red lips. He raised his gaze slightly and for a moment they just stood staring into each other's eyes.

"Did anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?" he breathed when he finally dipped his head and pressed his lips against the soft flesh at the nape of the young man's neck. Milliardo moaned as he placed a trail of soft butterfly kisses along his neck and cheekbone before capturing his mouth in a deep, drawn out kiss. The blonde's fingers were still playing with his nipple, squeezing and twisting it gently, sending little sparks of pleasure straight to his groin with every touch.

He hadn't planned for things to happen like this, not this fast and not this soon and he knew that he had to be careful, very careful. In the heat of the moment it was too easy to lose control and cross that line he never wanted to cross. So, when lack of air finally forced them to break their kiss Treize pulled away slowly.

"I probably should get dressed now."

"Why?"

"Because…," the professor's voice was laced with a hint of sarcasm. "I don't think they'll let me into the 'Mystique' wearing only a bathrobe."

"Their loss," Milliardo smirked as he reluctantly removed his hand from the other man's chest. "But you know dinner is highly overrated. We could just spend the night in. We have those appetizers and we have wine…"

"As tempting as that sounds," Treize replied. "I'm afraid we can't just cancel our reservations. You see, Chef Marcón serves his famous Turf and Surf, Tender buffalo steak, Maine lobster and truffle mashed potatoes, only on special request. You have to pre-order at least 24 hours ahead, because the lobster is flown in fresh every morning and…"

"…the buffalos are still roaming the prairie at noon." Milliardo teased. "I get it. But tell me… How could you make reservations 24 hours ahead when you only asked me out of dinner about… 6 hours ago? You are pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Treize shrugged, his eyes sparking with mirth. "I figured, if you hadn't accepted my invitation, how hard could it have been to find somewhat else interested in a free steak and lobster dinner?" he declared nonchalantly, earning himself a glare from the younger man along with a playful cuff to his solar plexus.

The professor laughed, a rich and deep sound. "You have a violent streak to you, I see." With a last, brief but affectionate kiss he turned and headed for the bedroom. "I'll be right back."

"Do you need help?" Milliardo called out after him before the door had fully closed.

Treize's head popped through the opening, a soft smirk curving his lips. "I think I'll manage. Thanks."

###

Milliardo had never been at the 'Mystique' before, but he had read about its grand opening a few months prior and from what he knew it was a very upscale restaurant/bar. The chef was famous for his continental and French fusion cuisine.

Although Milliardo was not a big fan of rich, overpowering French sauces he was impressed with what Marcón had done with just a few herbs and some truffle.

"So, what do you think?" Treize asked after giving the younger man some time to taste his food.

The two men had shared about half the bottle of white wine and a good portion of the hors d'oeuvres in his suite before heading to the 'Mystique' on foot. The Restaurant was located only a couple of blocks from the hotel, and the cool evening breeze was perfect for a walk.

"It's quite good," Milliardo admitted. "I had buffalo before but this is definitely the best so far. And those potatoes are good enough to make a meal of their own."

"I told you it was worth getting dressed for, didn't I?"

The younger man laughed. "Well, maybe."

They continued to make small talk throughout their dinner, talking about the weather, sports and cars; at which point Treize looked up. "Which reminds me… Would you mind giving me the number of your mechanic, Milliardo? I think I need to have my car checked."

"Umm… sure. Got something to write?"

The older man pulled out his valet and removed a small business card. "This should work."

"1 882 9768, ask for Tim and tell him that I referred you; he barely takes on new clients anymore but he will on a friend's recommendation."

"Thanks. I'll remember that."

As the professor scribbled down the number Milliardo noticed a picture in his open wallet. He reached out and turned it around to get a better look. The photo showed a middle aged woman in front of a black town car. At her side were two gorgeous white and brown dogs with slim heads and long silky coats, very similar to the dog he had seen with Alexander in his dreams. Only that Peritas was almost completely white.

"That's my mother," the older man volunteered before he could even ask.

"She is beautiful. And so are her dogs."

"Ah, yes Antoinette and Boris. She quite possibly loves them more than even me," Treize said, but didn't sound too broken up about it.

"Those are Russian Wolfhounds, are they not?"

"Yes that's right, they also called Borzoi. My family had been raising them for several generations." The professor smiled softly. "My father used to joke that Mother first fell in love with his dogs and then with him."

"I think Alexander had a Borzoi too, didn't he; a white one."

"I believe so, but how do you know?"

"I saw a picture of them, somewhere." Milliardo lied. It seemed easier than explaining that he knew Alexander's dog from his dreams.

Treize took a sip from his water glass and nodded. "I see. Well, from what I know the Russian Czar gifted two male Borzoi puppies to Alexander and Julian's father."

"The Russian Czar?" Milliardo echoed. "Are you serious?"

"But of course. Why would make up something like that? Back then the only way to acquire a Borzoi was as a gift from the Czar."

"But he wouldn't just give them to anybody, I can imagine."

No, I suppose not. Mostly Russian aristocrats, foreign diplomats and kings…"

"Your family is from Russia then?"

"Originally yes," the professor confirmed. "Some of my relatives actually lived in Kiev and Petersburg until 1917. In any case, it is quite possible that my great-great-grandfather gave one of those puppies to each of his sons, who must have been teenagers at that time. Julian must have loved the dogs very much. I remember my grandfather telling me stories about his stepfather helping to smuggle several dozen Borzoi out of Russia after the revolution. He found homes for most of those who had no owners but kept couple of females for himself and started breeding them. So, Antoinette and Boris are probably from the same bloodline as Alexander's dog was."

"Interesting, but I don't understand why it was necessary to **smuggle** the dogs out of Russia? Did the rebels want to keep them all for themselves because they were so valuable?"

"No, quite the contraire. Because they were closely associated with the Czar and symbols of Russia's aristocrats the rebels killed them wherever they could find them. Many noblemen took it on themselves to shoot their dogs rather than letting them fall into the hands of militants who would often torture and kill them cruelly."

"That's just wrong."

"That's war," Treize pointed out somberly. "But perhaps we can put off the history lessons for some other time, and return to a more pleasant conversation?" he suggested.

"I agree," Milliardo nodded. "This isn't exactly dinner conversation."

"So, should we order something from their marvelous dessert menu," the older man asked. "Or would you prefer to go back to the hotel and have dessert there?"

Milliardo smirked slightly. "I think I'll have to go with dessert at the hotel."

###

Dessert at the hotel consisted of a bottle of champagne, sweet strawberries drizzled with fruit liqueur and dipped into whipped cream, fed to one another on a blanket in front of the fireplace.

Milliardo usually was not a big drinker, and between the pre-dinner wine, the champagne and the sweet liqueur he could defiantly feel the alcohol rise to his head. But for some reason he couldn't bring himself to care. Stretched out on the soft blanket, the flickering flames reflecting in his blue eyes, he studied the other man quietly. He recalled the day when Treize first showed up at his house, and how he later had thought that it had been all but a dream. _Perhaps, _the young man thought. _It __**was**__ a dream. Maybe I am still dreaming._

Beside him Treize dipped another strawberry into the whipped cream before dangling it above the blonde's nose. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing." Milliardo raised his head just far enough to reach the berry. He held it between his teeth for a brief moment before finally taking it into his mouth, chewing deliberately slow, savoring every bite.

"Nothing?" Treize asked.

Milliardo didn't answer right away. Instead he reached out and pulled the other man into his arms. "Kiss me!" he demanded. "Kiss me now."

Treize raised one eyebrow in surprise but dipped his head and obliged. He kissed Milliardo's lips, then hid neck and his jaw line before finally placing a ghost of a kiss onto his earlobe. "I love you, Milliardo!" he breathed softly. "I love you so much."

The young man closed his eyes in delight. "I love you too."

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	16. Chapter 16

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 16**

"Good morning, Sleepyhead. Time to wake up!"

Milliardo grumbled but opened first one then both eyes lazily. It had been a long time since anything but the alarm clock had woken him in the morning. Treize was hovering over him, looking far more cheerful and bright-eyed than one should at such an early hour.

"What time **is** it?" He yawned.

"0700 hours," the older man told him. "Breakfast should be up soon, so you better hurry if you want to take a shower before. How did you sleep, by the way?"

"Wonderful. You know, this bed would have been large enough for the two of us. You really didn't have to take the couch."

"But I did," Treize insisted with a soft smile. "For your sake as much as for mine. I thought I made that clear last night. Don't get me wrong, Milliardo, I find you incredibly attractive and I have feelings for you that go far deeper than physical attraction. But I don't think either of us is ready yet…"

Milliardo gave an amused huff as he pushed away the comforter, revealing a lean, well-built body glad only in a pair of boxers. "Are you always such a gentleman?"

"What's wrong with that?"

With another huff the younger man climbed out of bed, breathing a ghost of a kiss onto Treize's cheek as he passed him. At the door to the bathroom he held his step briefly, looking back over his shoulder. "Just so you know…Last night, I was ready."

#

Breakfast was ready by the time Milliardo finished the shower.

The professor had set the table in the solarium, from where they could watch the sun rise over the city. A single long-stemmed rose in a slender vase… lit candles in crystal holders… matching china, from the serving plates all the way to the cute little egg-holders; it looked like a picture from a 'beautiful home' catalogue. Usually breakfast for Milliardo consisted of a cup of coffee and a bagel on a paper plate, in front of his computer while he checked his emails or finished homework. He wondered if Treize ate like this every day or if it was something put together for his sake.

His gaze fell upon a large pitcher of what looked like freshly squeezed orange juice. "No coffee?" he asked with a smirk.

"Trust me, it's not worth it." Treize returned the smile. He pulled a chair out for his guest and waited for Milliardo to settle down before he too took his seat. "Help yourself."

"Thanks." The blond buttered one of the freshly baked crescent rolls before picking up his knife to slice the top of his egg. It was perfect, just the way he liked it; the white solid while the yolk was still soft and runny.

"You know, I was thinking…" he announced as he sprinkled a tiny bit of salt onto the egg. "You really were planning on buying my grandmother's house if my family would have sold it, weren't you?"

"Absolutely," the older man nodded. "I was prepared to pay the asking price without question. I really fell in love with that place the moment I saw it."

"I guess that makes two of us. Well actually, it took me a lot longer to fall in love with it. But I don't think I would want to give it up now for any price."

"I wasn't really expecting you would."

"But like I said, I was thinking." Milliardo put down his spoon and looked at the professor. "What do you think about roommates?"

"In general?" Treize asked, slightly confused.

"No, I'm talking about you and me living together as roommates; well housemates to be more precise." The younger man corrected. "You see, I can't afford a house this large on my own. Between the renovations and the property taxes… Of course I could ask my father for money but that's something I'd rather not do. My other option would be to split the costs by taking in a housemate. And since I know you love the house as much as I do, and I have no doubt that we will get along…"

"That… is really…I don't know what to say." The professor seemed taken off-guard by his proposal.

"You hate the idea."

"No, no," Treize quickly assured him. "I think that would be wonderful."

"Then why do I sense a 'but' coming?"

"But…" the older man continued. "I'm afraid you are missing an important point."

"Which is?" Milliardo took a sip from his orange juice and looked at the professor questioningly.

"Marymount might frown upon these kinds of living arrangements. I am your teacher, after all."

The blond shrugged. "Only for another two months."

"Three months."

"Two and a half. Besides, I am legally an adult. What do you expect them to do, send in the moral police?"

Treize chuckled quietly. "Alright, I'll think about it," he promised.

###

"Take a left on 5th street, will you?" Milliardo directed as Treize and he drove back to his house after breakfast. "There is a little used bookstore I want to check out."

"A used book store?" the other man echoed.

"Wufei told me about it. There are some old books I'm looking for that I can't find anywhere else."

"I see."

A few minutes later the professor parked in front of a Victorian era row house; the bookstore was located in the lower level of the house. A little bell hanging above the door chimed as the two men entered the store, and an old man behind the counter raised his head.

"Good morning," he greeted them.

"Good morning," Milliardo replied politely. "Where can I find mystery novels, preferable early editions?"

"That would be aisle C, right there to the left. If you are looking for anything specific I can have my grandson check the computer," the man offered.

"Thanks, I'll just go take a look first." As the blond walked over to the shelf the storeowner had indicated, behind him he could hear Treize asked the man if he had any old newspapers or magazines.

Letting his fingertip run over the book spines Milliardo's eyes scanned the book titles and authors. By the time he returned to the checkout counter he was carrying two Sherlock Holmes novels and an early book by G. K. Chesterton. _Maybe these will put Alexander in a good mood and keep him occupied until we are finished painting the house. Presupposed, of course he didn't change the door locks on us over night, which I really wouldn't put past him, _the young man thought with a hint of sarcasm. _I probably should have told him that there was a chance I would spend the night out._

Treize was still looking through the newspaper section. "Found anything?" he asked as Milliardo joined him.

The younger man nodded. "What about you?"

The professor handed him an old paper that looked like it had been opened and refolded many times. "This one is from the day you were born."

"Really? Wow! I wonder what happened that day." Milliardo exclaimed, then suddenly frowned slightly. "Wait a second. I don't remember telling you when I was born."

"It's in your school records."

"Of course it is," the young grinned sheepishly. "What about the day **you **were born? Do they have a paper for that day too?"

"I didn't check," Treize admitted. "I was actually looking for something that dated a little further back."

"How much further?"

The voice behind their backs made the two men nearly jump. Neither of them had heard the store owner approach. The old man was leaning heavily on a walking stick that looked almost as old as he.

"Around 1900."

"I'm afraid you won't find anything that old here. But if you give me an exact date I'll see if I can find something. It might take a few days, so leave me your name and phone number and I'll call you when I'm done."

"Thank you, that would be most appreciated," the professor inclined his head politely.

They headed back to the counter and while Milliardo paid for his books, the professor wrote the date of the papers he was looking for and his contact information down on a small index card. The old man held the card at arm's length and squinted as he tried to read it.

"One of these days I'll have to get a second pair of glasses just to help me find my first pair," he laughed. "I never can find them when I put them down. Take my advice young man, don't get old. It's the biggest mistake you can make in life."

Treize chuckled quietly. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for your help."

"No problem at all, Mister…?"

"Khushrenada, Treize Khushrenada."

"I'll call you within a few days," the store owner promised.

His customers left, the jingling of the door bell accompanying them all the way to their car. If either of them would have bothered turning their heads they might have noticed the old man watching them from behind the large glass window.

"Khushrenada," he mumbled as he looked down at the card in his hand. "Now that's a name I haven't heard in a very, very long time."

###

"Why don't you go get changed while I make coffee," Milliardo suggested as he unlocked the front door. He entered the house reaching out with his senses for Alexander who was usually waiting for him, but to his surprise he couldn't feel the ghost nearby. _Maybe he didn't notice us, because we came in Treize's car. Or he is just sitting up in the attic pouting. _

The two men split up in the hallway, the professor heading upstairs to change in the bathroom, while Milliardo walked into the kitchen. He put the bag with the printed 'Book Baron – used and out of print books' logo down on the table and reached for the glass coffee pot still drying in the sink. He filled it with water almost all the way to the top, convinced that they would need more than just one cup this morning. As he was measuring the coffee he could suddenly feel Alexander's presence.

The ghost entered the kitchen and went straight for the shopping bag on the table. _Like catching mice with cheese. _Milliardo tried not to smirk.

The books slipped out of the bag and opened up as Alexander slipped through them.

"I hope you like them. When you are done, I think I'd read them too."

The ghost grabbed the books and turned on his heels, as Milliardo could tell from the way the books moved in mid air. _Sulking, but at least not angry_, the young man concluded. _It's a start. The sooner he realizes that I have my own life, a life that includes Treize now, the better it will be for both… no, the three of us._

"You are quite welcome, too," he called after Alexander, his voice laced with amusement; as his ghostly housemate headed already back up to the attic.

#

Treize straightened his T-shirt as he walked out of the bathroom. Suddenly he raised his head. For a moment there he was almost sure he saw something moving on the stairs to the attic. But there was nothing but a few specks of dust dancing in a streak of sunlight that had found its way through a crack in the attic door.

From downstairs the smell of freshly brewed coffee started to fill the house. The professor inhaled deeply. What a wonderful aroma.

"Milliardo, were you calling for me earlier?" he asked as he walked into the kitchen a few moments later.

Putting down the cream he had just taken from the fridge, the younger man turned his head. "Call for you? No, why?"

"I thought I'd heard your voice while I was still getting dressed."

"Oh…I was probably talking to myself. 'where is that darn coffee pot' stuff like that you know," Milliardo grinned. _Damn, I hate lying to him. And I'm afraid he is smart enough to figure it out sooner or later anyway._

"Talking to yourself, huh? You what they say, right?' Treize teased. "It's the first sign that someone is either losing their mind or spending too much time alone."

"Really?" Milliardo's grin turned into a sly smile. "One more reason you should move in with me…rather sooner than later."

"Good try," the older man laughed. "How much longer until that coffee is ready?"

###

Milliardo was a little surprised but at the same time pleased how smooth things went this time around. Apparently his plan to 'bribe' Alexander with some good reads had worked. The ghost hadn't been bothering them all day, and the two men were able to not only finish painting the bedroom they had primed the day before, but also removed most of the old wallpaper in the study. It was a tough and sticky job to say the least, but Treize seemed to have worked out a perfect system. Milliardo left him to finish up the last wall while he went back into the bedroom to put the second coat onto the baseboards.

The first layer of wallpaper usually came off in large strips. Removing older layers below was a little more difficult, but Treize figured out that letting the steam soak through thoroughly before trying to scrape of the paper was the best way to go. He prepared a small part of the wall and let the steam do it's magic while he picked up his putty knife again to work on another part that already had been soaked.

After a few moments the professor lowered his hand and slowly turned his head, his brows knitted into a frown. For some reason he could not shake the feeling that every once in a while someone was watching him. His gaze went to the open window. Could it be that someone across the street was 'peeping'? They'd probably need binoculars, but it wasn't impossible.

Shaking his heads Treize went back to work.

"Done already?" he asked as Milliardo walked back into the study about fifteen minutes or so later.

"Yep. What about you?"

"Not quite, but I'm running out of steam."

"I'm not surprised; you have been working hard all day."

The older man laughed as he climbed down from the ladder. "I'm talking about the machine. You mind filling it up once more?" he asked as unplugged the steamer and handed it to Milliardo.

"Um… of course." The blond nodded. He tugged at the power cord, not realizing that in the process of climbing up and down and moving the ladder fourth and back, it had wrapped itself around one of the wooden legs.

From the corner of his eyes Treize noticed the ladder swaying.

"Milliardo!" he called out in warning, but it was already too late. He could see the ladder topple straight toward Milliardo and without even thinking he jumped forward, trying to push the younger man out of harm's way or at least shield him from the impact. Then something very odd happened. The ladder, which by all intentions and purpose should at least have grazed him, moved mid-air as thought someone had pushed it moving it slightly to the left, just far enough to make it hit the floor a good foot or so from his leg.

Treize gasped. He closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear his head. _What in the world just happened?_

"Treize, are you alright?" Milliardo scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide in shock, clearly shaken up.

"I'm fine," the older man nodded. "It didn't even touch me" _Although I'm not sure why._

"I'm sorry; I wasn't watching what I was doing… If you wouldn't have pushed me aside…"

"Don't be," Treize told him as he accepted Milliardo's outstretched hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. "It wasn't your fault. I should have made sure the power cord was free."

With the younger man's help he pulled the ladder upright and back onto its feet. "Looks like we both got lucky."

"I agree." Milliardo nodded. "Do you want to take a break?"

"No, let's finish this first while the steamer is still hot," the professor suggested. "I'd prefer to get this room done by tonight so that it can dry over night and tomorrow we can put on the primer."

"Okay then, let me refill the machine." Making sure this time that the power cord wasn't tangled up in anything else the younger man left the room and walked into the bathroom down the hall.

Left alone in the study Treize looked around guardedly. _Something isn't right here,_ he decided, he just wasn't able to put his finger on it…yet. _The ladder changing directions in mid-air, I didn't just imagine that, did I?_ Also the strange feeling of being watched; he remembered having it since the day when he first visited the house. And this morning when they arrived, he could have sworn he heard piano music just before Milliardo unlocked the door. _I wonder if he feels it too. No wonder he doesn't want to live here alone. _The professor smiled softly, understandingly. _Why didn't you just tell me, Silly._

As Milliardo walked back into the study a few minutes later, Treize looked at him firmly. "I have been thinking…about what you said this morning… about us living together and such. And I think I've made my decision."

"Oh?" the younger man asked. "And what did you decide?"

A smirk crossed the professor's face as he asked. "When can I move in?"

__________________________________________________________________________________________  
T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	17. Chapter 17

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 17**

"So he is really moving in with you?"Duo Maxwell asked.

He and Wufei had met with Milliardo after school at 'Mimi's' a favorite hangout for the college crowd. They had managed to find a table in the back of the small café where they had relative privacy.

"Yep, as soon as we finish painting the upper floor. Right now I'm using the spare bedroom for storage."

"Did you tell him about…'you know who'?" the braided young man wanted to know.

"Yeah sure, I just said: 'Wanna move in with me, it's going to be great just the three of us, you, me and the ghost of your great-grandfather.'" Milliardo nearly rolled his eyes.

"So you are still lying to the professor." Wufei pointed out.

"Hey, it's not like I don't want to tell him," the older youth defended himself. "But I'm not sure how he will take it."

"Speaking of taking it… Has Alexander started to warm up to him yet?"

"I think so," Milliardo nodded. "He seems to realize that Treize isn't his rival, although he still likes to play pranks on him." The young man chuckled. "Treize wants me to call a plumber to have the heater checked, because every time he takes a shower the water will turn cold every once in a while."

Duo couldn't help but laugh and even Wufei grinned as he took a sip from his tea glass.

"Did you find out any more about Alexander's past by the way?"

"No, I'm afraid not. But last Friday we went to that bookstore you told me about… Great place by the way, how did you find it?"

"The owner's grandson goes to school with us." Wufei explained. "I buy all my textbooks there. Did you find anything of interest?"

"A few books for Alexander, but I want to go back and take a better look. Treize has them find some old newspaper from the time his great-grandfather died. Hopefully there will be something that might tell us how he died and why."

"It seems really strange that he died the same day your great-grandparents got married, isn't it?" Duo remarked. "Have you ever considered suicide? I mean, he lost the love of his life not once but twice, maybe that was just more than he could deal with."

"It did cross my mind," Milliardo admitted. "But Treize insists that that's out of question. A Khushrenada would never kill himself."

"Hmm…" Wufei stared into his tea, lost in thought. "I think just as important as how he died is the question of why is he still here. Usually there is a reason when a spirit doesn't pass on."

"You mean he 'contacted' us because he wants help?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? He keeps giving you tips and hints through letters and dreams."

"Yes, but those haven't let anywhere."

"Maybe you just haven't completely deciphered them." Duo pointed out. "Maybe if we go over everything we know again, looking for clues we haven't found before, we might find the answer." In spite of what people thought about him, Maxwell was a lot smarter than he let on.

"Let's assume for a moment you are right, and let's also assume we would be able to help him. That'd mean he would disappear wouldn't it?" The young man wasn't sure if he liked that idea. He had gotten so used to having Alexander around that he couldn't imagine how things would be without him.

Wufei nodded. "Most likely. But that's the way it's meant to be. He should have passed on a hundred years ago. This isn't his world anymore."

"You are probably right." Milliardo admitted somberly as he pushed away the plate with his half eaten croissant sandwich, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore.

###

Trying to juggle two shopping bags while pulling his key from his pocket and unlocking the front door proofed a little difficult. Luckily, and very much to Milliardo's relief, the door was unlocked from the inside and opened.

"Thanks Alexander." Making sure his actions were shielded from possible passers-by, the young man handed one of the large paper bags to the ghost. "Take this one in the kitchen, would you please."

It had been exactly one month since that day Treize had knocked at his door asking to use his phone. It seemed hard to believe really, because Milliardo felt like he had known the other man for a lot longer. In any case, he had invited Treize over for dinner. The day was unusually warm for the season; perfect to fire up the grill in the garden and perhaps even eat outside. On his way home after meeting with his friends at Mimi's he had stopped by at the butcher and grocery store to pick up a pair of thick, juicy steaks and vegetables for grilling, along with everything else he would need.

As he followed Alexander, or more precisely the moving shopping bag, into the kitchen the young man's eyes fell upon a bouquet of white roses on the table. He knew for sure that those weren't there when he had left for school in the morning.

"Flowers?! Where did those come from? Alexander, did you…?" Milliardo frowned slightly. The garden was full of roses in all colors; long-stemmed, climbing and even on trees. But was it even possible for the ghost to leave the house? _I always thought ghost are confined to the place they died at. But maybe the garden is considered part of the house?! Who knows?_ "I don't know what to say. That's very sweet, thank you."

Smiling softly he put his shopping bag down on the table and started to unpack them. It was already almost 4 o'clock. Treize would be here in little more than an hour and he still had a lot to do before then. And then there was something else he wanted to take care off.

"Alexander, would you mind staying here for a moment? There is something I'd like to talk to you about." He moved the vase to the counter, out of harm's way, since he was going to need the table to cut the vegetables and prepare the meat. "I think I'll put them on the dinner table tonight. They will be perfect."

Milliardo stepped to the sink to wash some bell peppers, zucchini and egg plant. When he went back to the table he looked up into the general direction from where he could feel the ghost's presence. "Alexander," he started. "You probably already know, but Treize is moving in with me on Monday. I think life would be a lot easier for all of us if the two of you would get along. And that includes playing your little tricks on him. I know they might be amusing and entertaining to a bored ghost. But trust me, it a lot less fun for the person on the receiving end." He paused for a few moments, long enough to wipe down two large portobello mushrooms, before adding. "I know you don't really dislike him." It was true, if Alexander truly hated Treize or wanted to harm him he could do far worse than shower him with cold water or hide his car keys every once in a while.

For a moment or two the ghost's presence didn't move, Alexander was thinking. Then it shifted slowly toward Milliardo. Invisible finger's ruffled the young man's soft hair. Then he felt a cool sensation against the side of his face as his ghostly houseguest placed a kiss onto his cheek. Flustered Milliardo took a step back.

"Careful now, this might get you into hot water with my boyfriend." he tried to joke. "I've heard the Khushrenada family is known to be hot-headed and jealous."

#

Punctual as ever Treize rang the doorbell at three minutes to five, just as Milliardo walked back into the house after lighting the grill.

"Coming," he called out. _We need to get an extra key made this weekend. _

The professor was carrying a bottle of red wine. He smiled softly as he kissed the younger man 'hello'. "Am I early?"

"No, your timing is perfect," Milliardo assured him as they walked into the house together. "I just fired up the grill. Hope you don't mind, but I set the table in the garden."

"Not at all, it's beautiful outside today."

"How was the teacher's conference?" the blond asked in an attempt to make small talk. Treize had been in a meeting all afternoon.

"Tedious," the older man sighed. "I hate wasting time on talking about the obvious."

"Which is?"

"Do you really want me to bore you to death with that stuff?"

"No, maybe not." Milliardo laughed. "How about opening the wine instead? There is a carafe in the top cabinet above the fridge, and the wine opener is in the utensil drawer."

"I can do that."

"I'll put the vegetables on; they'll take quite a bit longer than the steaks."

The young man had marinated the veggies earlier in a mixture of balsamic vinegar, worcestershire sauce and a pinch of garlic salt, a recipe he had picked up from his father who was a true master when it came to grilling. The BBQ was nice and hot, the vegetable rack already preheated. He lowered the heat a little before adding a layer of zucchini, eggplant and peppers. As they cooked they'd shrink, making room for the onions and mushrooms to be added later.

"Where do you want me to put the wine?"

"On the table, if you would?" Milliardo gestured toward the round patio table beneath a wooden shade structure.

"Ah, I see you got my flowers," Treize noted as he put the wine carafe down beside the crystal vase.

The younger man turned, a slight frown on his face.

"I was a little worried leaving them at the front door when I came by earlier. But you weren't home and leaving them seemed like a better idea than walking into the meeting with a bouquet of roses." The professor chuckled quietly.

"Ah yes, they are beautiful. Thank you so much. I love the color." _So that's where the roses came from. Of course, that makes sense. Alexander, I see you are not above taking credit for another person's effort, _Milliardo thought with a hint of amusement. _I should have guessed, I suppose. But I really don't know the first thing about ghosts and…_

"…I wasn't sure what else to get you. You are a very difficult person to buy gifts for, do you know that? So what do you think? ... Milliardo?!"

"Ah, yes." The younger man suddenly realized that he had spaced out, barely listening to what Treize was saying. "Thank you, like I said I love them."

"I was talking the other gift. The small package I left along with the flowers… There was a package when you came home, wasn't there?"

"The package; oh yes of course." Milliardo managed a smile. "I'm sorry, I got so busy preparing dinner I never even had chance to open it yet. I'll do it right now, thought. Keep an eye on the grill, will you."

Leaving the older man behind in the garden, the blond entered the house through the patio door. "Alexander Khushrenada!" He kept his voice sharp but hushed, knowing the ghost would hear him anyway. As he walked into the kitchen his gaze fell upon the lidded chrome trashcan in the corner, and he remembered what happened to Treize's last gift. Sure enough when he opened the lid he found pieces of white and silver paper, like one would use to wrap a present in. But that's all he could see. He turned as he felt Alexander's presence behind his back. "I believe there was something else left at the door, along with those flowers; a gift for me. Emphasis on 'for me'." Milliardo's voice was laced with sarcasm and a slight hint of annoyance. "I found the wrappings in the trashcan. You wouldn't happen to know where the rest is, would you?"

He could feel the ghost leave, and as he re-appeared only a moment later a thin rectangular object dropped onto the table. A book, and not just any book but a first edition of Cyril Hare's "Suicide Expected". Milliardo suddenly realized that Treize must have thought that he had bought those novels at the Book Baron for himself. "Well, I suppose it is a present for you, after all. Still, in the future I'd like you to keep your hands off any packages, gift etc that are not clearly addressed to you. It's just not good form to open someone else's presents; a gentleman like you should know that." The young man picked the book up from the table. "I'll have to borrow this for a little while. You'll get it back later."

Milliardo put on a smile as he stepped back out onto the patio. "Thank you so much. I'll definitely enjoy the book. But a first edition? You really shouldn't have."

"Don't worry about it. I got a good deal. I'm just glad you like it… more than the steak iron. Speaking of which; the vegetables are done. I'm turning the heat up on the grill now to put on the steaks. Are we ready?"

"Absolutely, I'm starving."

"So am I," the older man admitted. "And everything smells so delicious."

"Where did you get that book anyway?" Milliardo asked as he put it down at the side of the table while Treize put the meat onto the hot grill. "The Book Baron?"

"No, no I know someone who deals in first editions only. So, if you ever looking for anything just let me know. But since you brought up the Book Baron… I got a call last night. Apparently they managed to find some newspapers for me."

"That's great."

"Yes, I'm really excited. I was thinking we could drive over there and pick them up after dinner." Treize turned his head to look at the younger man. "What do you think?"

"I don't think we will have enough time."

"Ah, right. You have to work tonight. I almost forgot."

"Yeah, I have to leave by eight," Milliardo confirmed. "But what's with that face?"

"I'm sorry, but I just don't know how I feel about you working at that place," Treize admitted.

The younger man frowned slightly. "That Place?! What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Please, don't get me wrong. But I don't really like the idea that you spend the night with other men rather than with me."

"It's just a job. I wish you would trust me a little more."

"I never said I didn't trust you," the professor pointed out cautiously. "It's those men you are with I'm not so sure about." He paused just long enough to open the grill and turn over the steaks. "It's naïve to think they are there just to talk to you. Trust me; people who visit these kinds of clubs do it for one reason and one reason only."

"Is that so?" Milliardo's voice was laced with sarcasm. "If I remember right you are not s stranger to 'these kinds of clubs' either."

"Exactly." A sly smile curved Treize's lips. "That's how I know what I'm talking about."

The younger man huffed, modestly amused. "Khushrenada logic?" he asked. "I'm sorry, but I like my job and have no intention of quitting any time soon. If it makes you feel better you can always come by the club and keep an eye on me."

"Don't tempt me." The professor smirked.

#

A few minutes later the two men were sitting down for dinner.

"Absolutely delicious," Treize announced after taking a bite from his vegetables. "I had no idea you were such a good cook."

"I only know to make a few dishes, but I'm pretty good at those," Milliardo admitted.

"So, you are going to be spending all weekend with your family?"

"Don't remind me," he sighed. It was Relena's Debutantes Ball on Sunday. And his parents had invited her escort for a family dinner the night before; a family dinner they insisted he was to attend as well. He was almost tempted to take Treize along but he reminded himself that he had promised Relena not to do anything to spoil her celebration.

Treize raised one eyebrow questioningly.

"Don't get me wrong. I don't hate spending time with my family, but two days in a row is a little much for my taste. Not to mention that I never was much of a fan of stiff social events. Strutting around like a peacock, all dressed up, rubbing elbows with other members of the high society and competing in who can afford to buy the most expensive diamond necklace for his wife or daughter, is something I think should have gone out of style along with top hats and walking canes."

"But you do intent to play along anyway."

"Of course, Relena is my little sister. I wouldn't do anything to upset her. I think girls are different. They like to dress up and show off in front of others. Secretly, I think my father doesn't feel much different than I do, but he has obligations as the head of the Milliardo family. But hey, can we talk about something else?"

"Yes, of course. I checked out the showroom of a local furniture dealer this morning before school. They deliver same day, so I thought we could get some shopping done Monday morning. After all, all I have right now are my personal belongings."

"We?" Milliardo echoed.

"You will accompany, won't you?" Treize asked. "Two opinions are always better than one."

"Fine, as long as we are back home by noon."

"Ah yes, that's right, Mister Maxwell and Mister Chang will be coming by."

The younger man grinned. "Will you stop calling them 'Mister', it sounds weird." Since Monday was a holiday, Milliardo had forgotten which one, there was no school, and his friends had agreed to come over to clear out the spare bedroom so that Treize move his things in.

"Well, just referring to them as Maxwell and Chang would sound even stranger, and not to mention rude." Treize pointed out.

"They do have first names you know."

"In any case, the store opens at 0900, three hours should be plenty to pick out a bedroom set, wouldn't you think? You know, I'm really starting to get excited."

"About buying a bedroom set?" Milliardo asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"About moving in with you."

__________________________________________________________________________________________  
T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	18. Chapter 18

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 18**

Treize had to circle the block twice before he could find a parking spot near the Book Baron store. Apparently the shopping district was a popular destination on weekends, especially on such a beautiful and sunny Saturday morning. People were walking their dogs, families with children headed for one of the many bakeries or fast food stores for breakfast.

After being busy most of the week at school and with trying to finish painting the upper floor, the two men had decided to visit the book store this morning, before Milliardo had to get ready for a weekend with his family.

The bell above the door announced their arrival as they entered the little store, and a few moments later the owner appeared from a room in the back.

"Good morning," Treize greeted the old man. "I received a call earlier this week about some newspapers you'd found for me?!"

"Ah, yes, Mister Khushrenada, wasn't it?"

"That's right." The professor was somewhat surprised. For his age the old man seemed to be quite sharp; remembering his name among all those customers he was dealing with every day.

"Why don't we go into the backroom," the owner suggested. With his cane he banged against the spiral staircase that seemed to be leading to the upper level of the house. "Henry," he called out. "Take over the store for a moment; I have some things to take care of."

"Be right there, Grandpa," a youthful voice came from upstairs.

"My grandson," the older man explained as he let the way into the back room that turned out to be a mixture of office and storage room. "I don't know how I would manage without him. Please have a seat, Gentlemen."

While Treize settled down across the desk, his companion pulled another chair, which had been standing against the wall on the other side of the room, closer. Searching through a large filing cabinet for a few minutes, the old man finally pulled out a couple of old newspapers covered by protective plastic sleeves and put them down on the table. He hung his cane over the edge of the desk before lowering himself slowly into his seat.

"This…" he announced as he carefully removed the first paper from its cover, "is an edition of The Messenger, a local paper. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find the exact date you requested, but this is their Sunday edition which was usually a digest form of what happened the entire week. So, I hope you will be able to find whatever you are looking for in it. However, I have been told that the historical society has a complete archive of every issue of The Messenger on microfilm. So, if nothing else, you could always check with them."

"Thank you," Treize nodded. "I'll keep that in mind." Carefully he accepted the rare magazine as the old man pushed it toward him. He skimmed over the headlines on the front page with Milliardo leaning in closer to get a good look as well. The paper looked old and yellowed by time, but it was in remarkable good condition. The pictures were gray and grainy, but the print crisp and well legible. "So what's in the other bag?" he asked curiously.

"Ah, yes. It's something else I came across; something I thought you might definitely be interested in."

"Oh?"

"It has an article that mentions your ancestor, and even a picture of him."

The professor exchanged a surprised look with Milliardo. "How…?"

A slight smirk crossed the old man's wrinkled face, as he pulled the second paper out and handed it to Treize. "Your name isn't exactly what I would call 'common', Mister Khushrenada. So it's not much of a stretch to assume that you are somehow related to the man in this article. Second page, the article on the left."

"Russian elegance and beauty beats the competition…" Milliardo read the headline above the article.

"Besides," the store owner continued as he gestured at the black and white photo below it. "One would have to be blind not to see the resemblance between the two of you. You even raise your eyebrow in the same way he used to, when you are surprised or curious."

"Not that would be something hard to tell from a picture," Treize remarked in a mixture of amazement and surprise.

The old man's smirk deepened as he leaned over the desk, pointing one finger at the picture in the newspaper. "Can you see the little boy in the crowd in the background, a little difficult to make out, but he is wearing a paddock cap. That boy would be me, waiting to take care of Master Alexander's dogs while he socialized."

"That's you?!"Milliardo asked in disbelief as he looked at the old man, back at the newspaper and finally up again. "But that would me you are at least…"

"One hundred and eight years old," the store owner chuckled. "And I don't feel a day over a hundred."

"That's just... simply amazing." Even Treize found it difficult to wrap his brain around the idea that someone who knew his great-grandfather personally was actually still alive.

"I realize it's been a long time ago," Milliardo said. "But do you remember anything else about the day this picture was taken?"

"Of course I do. My mind is still working fine, now if I just could say the same about my bones…" he laughed. "It was the first day of the Harvest Fair, a three day celebration ending with the Harvest ball. It was an annual event ushering in social season…"

"Social season…" the young man echoed, slightly puzzled.

"During that time most wealthy people would spend their summer at their county manors," Treize explained. "They' return to their city homes in autumn where they would spend the other half of the year throwing and attending lavish parties and social gatherings. However these events were not just plain fun and games. It was their way of social networking, making acquaintances and forging alliances."

"You seem to know a lot about that time, Mister Khushrenada," the old man remarked.

Treize smiled softly. "I'm teaching history," he explained.

"I see. Well, anyway, back to that picture. One of the opening events at the fair was a dog show. Master Alexander hadn't planned to enter the event and I'm not sure what made him change his mind. But I'm glad he did, because it was the only reason he took me along and even bought me a brand new suit and hat for the occasion. I'm not surprised his dog won the show; that hound was by far the most exotic and majestic in town. What was his name again… I think it started with a P."

"Peritas." Milliardo helped out.

"Ah, yes. That's right. How could I forget? I suppose my brain isn't quite that sharp anymore, after all."

"Mister Harold…," Treize remembered reading the name William Harold on the business card he had picked up at his first visit at the store. "How exactly did you and Alexander know one another?"

"My mother worked for him as a maid, cleaning the house and taking care of his laundry when he was in town," the old man explained. "I had just turned seven when she took the job, and she worked for him until he died, little more than a year later. The small public school in town was only in session twice a week, so Master Alexander allowed Mother to bring me along when she came to work on those other days. Now, if you don't mind me asking, Mister Khushrenada. How are you and Alexander related?"

"I'm his great-grandson."

"Really, I will be darned. I never knew he had any children."

"Truth to be told, neither did he," Treize replied. "It's a rather long and complicated story. Say, Mister Harold, is there anything else you can tell me about my great-grandfather; anything at all?"

"Well, let's see… He didn't like children; or so he claimed as he took me aside the very first day Mother took me to his house. 'Children, especially little boys are noisy, they touch things they shouldn't and tend to be not to be very particular about telling the truth. But we should get along just fine as long as you stay quiet and keep your hands of my things. And most of all,' he added 'never lie to me, because I will know if you do.'" The old man chuckled quietly at the memory. "I never doubted that for one second. He could be strict and demanding but also very generous and never unfair. He paid me a penny a day for walking his dog. Mother had no idea about it; it was our little secret, an agreement between gentlemen as he called it. I'd usually take my riches down to the general store and turn them into a couple pieces of toffee or sugar candy. And with Peritas at my side I had never to worry about older boys trying to bully me out of my sweets."

Milliardo laughed. "Sounds like you were quite the clever kid."

"Master Alexander loved a good brandy in the afternoon, and the house was always full of fresh flowers. He liked to read. He never went into town without coming home with a new book…"

"Grandpa…" The door to the backroom opened and a dark-haired boy in his late teens pooped his head through the opening. "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't realize you had visitors," he apologized upon seeing the two men with his grandfather.

"What is it, Henry?"

"The store is full of customer, I could use some help."

"I'll right there." The old man nodded then turned toward his guests. "I'm sorry about this."

"Don't be," Treize assured him. "We already have taken too much of your time, anyway. Thank you so much for sharing your memories about my great-grandfather with us."

"It was my pleasure. If you would like to come back, I'd be more than happy to tell you more. We are closed on Tuesdays."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." The old man gave a firm nod.

###

Milliardo pulled up at his parents' house shortly after five, more than thirty minutes later than he was supposed to arrive.

Watching his reflection in the glass of the front door, he tugged at the sleeves of his white dinner jacket before pulling his key from his pocket. However, before he ever had a chance to unlock the door it was opened from the inside.

"Master Milliardo, welcome home." Paigan, the family butler, gave the young man a friendly smile and a slight bow. "What a pleasure to see you again."

"Thank you, Pagain. It's nice seeing you too." Milliardo returned the smile. He genuinely liked the old man who had helped raising him since he was an infant. "Is everyone else here already?"

"I believe so."

"My mother?!"

The butler gestured toward the dining room where Milliardo found her checking the table setting.

"It's perfect, Mom. No one will notice if the centerpiece has 12 red flowers or 13. And once you serve that famous roast of yours," he grinned. "No one will care."

"Milliardo!" she turned to embrace her son who was now a good head taller than she. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks. Sorry I'm late."

"Don't worry about it." She gave a good humored huff. "If I'd expected you to be on time I'd have told you to be here by 5:30."

Milliardo grinned. That was just like his mother. "Well, at least I have a good excuse. Noin's flight was late and then it was stop and go on the freeway."

"Ah yes, Miss Noin. How is she? I haven't seen her since the two of you went to the senior prom together."

"She is fine," her son assured her.

"I take it she couldn't make it for dinner?"

"I never invited her?"

"Oh?!"

"I figured she would be tired from the long flight, and since she will be with us most of the day tomorrow she probably wants to spend some time with her family today. So I didn't want to put her on the spot by asking her out tonight."

"Good point," his mother agreed, before she turned her head and called out. "Paigan?!"

"Ma'am?!"

"Please remove one of the place settings; Miss Noin won't be joining us after all."

The butler nodded in acknowledgement. "Right away."

"Where is Lena?" Milliardo asked. It was unusual for his sister not to come flying to greet him when he visited.

"In her room, still getting dressed."

"And what about her 'date'? Is he here already?"

"Yes of course." His Mother gestured toward the closed door of the study. "They have been in there for a good twenty minutes; poor kid. Perhaps you could go to break up the 'interrogation' and let your father know the roast is ready to be carved."

"Will do," the young man laughed.

"And I'll go and see what's keeping your sister."

#

"May I come in?" Milliardo knocked firmly on the door to his father's study.

"Yes, please."

The elder Peacecraft was sitting behind his large mahogany desk, with his guest seated across from him in one of the black leather recliners.

Milliardo had never met the young man; although it was quite possible that he had seen him in school before without realizing it. After Relena had mentioned his name, though, he had done a little research and found out that Heero Yuy was the adopted and, if you listened to rumors, probably illegitimate son of a very successful scientist who raised the boy on his own. When he died in an accident a few years back he left the 16 year old parentless but not penniless. No one seemed to know exactly how large of a trust fund Yuy was living on, but judging by the customized silver Corvette out in the driveway, and the Hugo Boss suit he was wearing, he didn't seem strapped for cash.

"Milliardo, this is Heero Yuy, the young man who will be escorting Relena tomorrow. Mister Yuy, please meet my son, Milliardo." His father introduced them.

Heero rose from his chair to shake hands with the older youth. "Nice to meet you."

"Same here," Milliardo nodded.

"You are alone?" His father wanted to know.

"Yes, I took Noin home, she was tired."

"You know, I was surprised when you mother told me who you were taking as your date. For some reason I had assumed the two of you had lost contact after High School." The older man turned toward Heero to explain. "Miss Noin and Milliardo grew up together; they used to go to the same school from Kindergarten through High School, before she went to Carlton University on a journalism scholarship."

"We kept in touch," Milliardo said. "In fact we talk a lot over the internet."

"Still, coming all this way just for the weekend is very nice of her."

"She was planning on visiting her family soon anyway. So she's just doing it a couple weeks early. Besides, you paid for her roundtrip plane ticket."

"I did?"

"Yeah," Milliardo confirmed, never even blinking. "You will find it on your next credit card statement. By the way, Mom wants you in the kitchen."

"Well, in that case I'd better go and see what she needs. Milliardo, I'll leave you to take care of our guest."

As his father left the study Milliardo turned to the other youth with a soft grin. "I hope he didn't give you the third degree."

"It wasn't so bad. We talked mostly about my father and my upbringing."

"Should we go sit on the patio," the blond suggested. "Dinner doesn't seem to be quite ready yet."

"Sounds good." Heero agreed.

As they made their way through the living room the two of them ran into Paigan, and Milliardo asked the old man to bring a couple of beers outside.

"I bet you never realized what you got yourself into when you so innocently accepted my sister's invitation." Milliardo grinned as they settled down in the white wicker set.

"I really didn't," the other youth confirmed. "Or more precisely, I didn't know enough about the event and what was expected of me. So, I did some research on the internet, but I have to admit I still don't understand the whole concept of a Debutante Ball. The article I read said that originally it was meant to introduce young women to eligible bachelors and their families for the purpose of marriage." Heero looked up, slightly puzzled. "Is Relena looking for someone to marry?"

Somehow Milliardo managed not to burst out in laughter. "Most definitely not," he replied.

"That's a relief. Your father's questions were beginning to scare me."

"Yes," the blond smirked. "He often has that affect on people."

Their conversation was interrupted as Paigan returned with two bottles of beer, glasses and a plate of cheese and crackers. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"That's it, thank you Paigan."

Heero poured his beer, then silently watched the foam slowly subside. "Milliardo, could I ask you a question?" he finally asked. "It's kind of personal, though."

"No, I'm not looking for someone to marry, either," the blond joked.

The other youth flashed him a smirk. "That's unfortunate I'd say, but it's not what I wanted to ask."

"No? Well, then what is your question?"

"You are friends with Duo Maxwell, and Wufei Chang, aren't you?"

"Yeah, we hang out together," Milliardo confirmed. "Why?"

"I was just wondering… umm… do you know by any chance if….uh…Maxwell and Chang are… you know?"

"No I don't?" He gave Heero a puzzled look. "You'll have to be a little clearer, I'm afraid."

"Well… umm," the other youth took a deep breath then blurted out. "Are the two of them seeing each other?"

"Seeing… Oh!" Suddenly it hit Milliardo. "No, I don't think they are more than just roommates and friends."

"In that case," He averted his gaze and stared down into his beer glass, trying to hide the flush of crimson rising into his cheeks. "Would you happen to know if Maxwell is seeing anyone else?"

"I'm not sure, honestly. I have never seen him with anyone, but that doesn't mean anything." Milliardo studied the other youth thoroughly. "Do you have the hots for him?"

The color in Heero's face only intensified and he didn't even bother to deny it.

"Now I have a question for you. Why exactly did you accept Relena's invitation?"

The young man shrugged. "I find Relena interesting. She is very different from most of the girls I have classes with. Besides, she asked nicely."

Milliardo gave a deep laugh. "So, if I ask nicely, you will let me drive that silver bullet of yours?"

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	19. Chapter 19

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 19**

Milliardo wasn't sure what woke him. He turned his head and slowly opened his eyes, squinting at the little black alarm clock on the nightstand. When he strained his hearing he could make out the soft rushing sound of the shower. Apparently, Treize was already up.

With a yawn the young man rolled out of bed. He pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and a T-shirt, shuffled out of his bedroom and made his way into the kitchen.

The coffee maker was running, filling the glass carafe with its dark, aromatic brew, and a couple pieces of bread were browning in the toaster by the time Treize came walking down the stairs. The older man was already dressed, tie and all.

"Good morning," Milliardo greeted his new house mate with a little peck on the cheek.

"Good morning. I'm surprised you are up already; I thought you didn't have any classes today."

"I don't," the younger man confirmed. "I just thought I'd make some breakfast. After all, it's our first morning together in this house. How did you sleep by the way?"

"Wonderful. The new bed is quite comfortable."

"Is that so?" The blond gave a sly smile. "Perhaps someday you will let me test it."

The professor laughed quietly as he poured himself a cup of coffee and changed the subject. "So, what are your plans for the day?

"I have to finish up a paper, and I'm waiting for the electrician at noon, other than that, not much."

"Electrician? Is something wrong with the lights?"

"No, I just want to get an estimate on what it will cost to get the attic wired. I'm tired of having to use a flashlight or candle every time I go up there."

"Ah yes, that's right." Treize remembered now that they had talked about that.

"But what about you; how does your afternoon schedule look? I was thinking, if you have time we could take old man Harold's offer, visit him and see if he can tell us anything else."

"Sounds like an idea," Treize agreed as he reached for one of the toast slices. "I should be home by four latest. Would you pass the jam please? Oh yeah, we also need to stop by the supermarket today. I noticed your fridge looks a little… bare while the freezer almost bursts out of its seams."

"I guess I'm a frozen meal kind of guy. I do realize they are not exactly health food, but I love the convenience."

"Well that will change, now that I am here."

"You know how to cook?" Milliardo sounded impressed.

"No, but I'm willing to learn."

The younger man smiled. After watching Treize go from someone who had never touched a brush to an almost professional painter in the course of two weeks, he had no doubt that he would be cooking gourmet meals in no time at all. "Talking of learning…Did you learn anything from that article in the old newspaper?"

"Nothing in detail," the older man admitted. He had read the paper front to back and back to front again. It was a fascinating read to say the least, for a history buff like him. "Apparently your great-grandfather's wedding was quite the social event, though. It's only to expect that it took center stage in the news covering. Alexander's death is only mentioned in a small article on page 3. Just so much as that he had been found by an associate, in his house and the cause of death was still to be determined."

"Really?" Milliardo mused. "Say, back then who **did** determine the cause of someone's death?"

"Good question. Normally the family doctor would sign the death certificate. But I'm in a case like this when a young man in good health died suddenly and unexpectedly a doctor with a coroner's warrant would be called in for a coroner's inquiry. Of course I'm assuming here that Alexander was in good health and didn't actually die of an illness."

"Hmm…I might be worth asking Mister Harold about it. But didn't your family get a death certificate?"

"If they did it must have been lost since. I've never been able to find it with any of the others documents and personal items my family kept," Treize admitted. As he took another sip from his coffee his gaze fell onto his wrist watch. "Oh my, look what time it is. I'd better get going; or I'll have to put myself into detention for being tardy."

He downed the rest of the coffee in one long sip and started putting together his dishes.

"Leave those," Milliardo told him. "I'll clean up."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," the younger man confirmed. "Oh, by the way, I almost forgot to tell you. I'm planning on having Wufei and Duo over sometime next week, after I get paid; throw some steaks and burgers on the grill buy some beer etc. The two of them have been helping me a lot since before I moved in here."

"Sounds like an excellent idea," Treize nodded. "That will give a change to get to know your friends better, too. Well then, I'm off. See you in the afternoon."

"What, not even a kiss good-bye?" Milliardo complained.

"I'm sorry," the professor smirked as he stepped toward him and dipped his head for a brief but affectionate kiss. "I'm still getting used to this."

"Apology accepted." Milliardo returned the smirk. His eyes followed the older man as far as he could see him. Moments later he heard the front door open and then close again. Almost instantly he could feel Alexander's presence, and he huffed in amusement.

"Good morning. Are you purposely staying out of his way, or do even spirits oversleep occasionally?"

His ghostly houseguest whished around the kitchen to ruffle his hair. Milliardo realized that he could sense Alexander much more now that when they first 'met'. He could almost feel him standing at his side and he could follow his movements around the room. _Perhaps, _he mused. _Our connection has become stronger. I wonder if it is only I who can feel him. I know Wufei and Duo don't; but what about Treize? The two are connected in some way, are they not? Maybe that's why he keeps his distance from Treize most of the time. For some reason he doesn't seem to be ready to 'reveal' himself to his great-grandson yet._

"You know I really wish you could talk to me," The young man sighed. "There are still so many unanswered questions about your life and your death of course."

###

Old man Harold, how Milliardo had come to call him, lived conveniently directly above his bookstore. He buzzed the two men in as they came to visit him, and greeted them upstairs at the door to his apartment.

"Perfect timing, Gentlemen. I just made Tea for us."

"Are you clairvoyant?" the blond laughed.

"No, but I can tell time," the old man replied, a sparkle of mirth in his eyes. "Mister Khushrenada here called me earlier to let me know that you would be coming."

"I see," Milliardo nodded as he gazed at the small box filled with fresh pastries Treize was carrying, "So that's why we stopped at the bakery on the way here."

The store owner let them into his living room and excused himself to finish the tea. A few minutes later, his grandson helped him to carry the tray from the kitchen.

"Would you mind pouring the tea, I'm afraid my hands are not the steadiest anymore." The old man put down his cane and lowered himself into a big, comfortable looking recliner. "So, you have more questions I take it."

"Yes," Treize confirmed as he filled the cups and handed the first of them to their host. "We had some time to think about what you told us already and it brought up a whole bunch of new questions."

"Good. I had time to think too, and I remembered a few more things I haven't told you about yet."

While they sipped their tea and savored the pastries Treize had brought along, the three men engaged in light conversation. Milliardo got the feeling that the old man very much enjoyed having company. From what he could tell only he and his grandson seemed to be living together, and as he knew from experience, teenagers weren't exactly the most avid conversation partners.

"Did Alexander have any other servants besides your mother?" Treize finally asked after a good while of small talk.

"Oh yes. There was the cook Marry-Ann who reigned over the kitchen, and Mister Elward. He lived in the house and took care of things even or especially when Master Alexander was at sea."

There was something about the way his expression changed when he spoke about Elward that indicated Little William might have not the best of relationships with the butler.

"You didn't like the man." Milliardo stated.

"It was more the other way around I'd say, but then I don't think Mister Elward liked anybody but himself. He was a difficult person to please and he looked down at the other servants and even some of Master Alexander's associates. Perhaps that's one reason why he was eventually let go."

"Speaking of associates," the younger man asked. "Do you remember ever meeting one of Alexander's friends, a young man named Octavian Peacecraft?"

"Mister Peacecraft, oh yes. Now that you mention it. He visited quite often…" The old man squinted slightly as he studied Milliardo thoroughly. "Are you related? I think I detect a certain resemblance."

"Indeed," the blond confirmed. "Octavian was my great-grandfather."

"Is that so? And here you are; the two of you friends just like your ancestors. That's quite incredible."

"Yes," Treize nodded, a soft smile curving his lips "I would say so. One more question, Mister Harold. This might be pushing it, but by any chance do you know if Alexander was ill or didn't feel well that day when he died?"

"I don't think so. I remember he came back from his last journey early and unexpected. But I don't believe that was because he was ill. I think he just didn't want to miss the wedding."

"Octavian's wedding?" Treize asked, somewhat surprised. Not only did Alexander know that Octavian was getting married but he was even invited and planning to attend the event. That was something he really hadn't expected.

"Yes, I remember him calling for me. He was in his dressing room, clad in an elegant brand new suit that had been delivered just that morning. He told me that he was going to be out late and to make sure that his dog was walked and locked into the kitchen when Mother and I left." The old man chuckled. "Peritas could get a bit destructive when he was alone, so the kitchen was the safest place to leave him."

"So, Alexander seemed fine?"

"Yes, and in a good mood as well. He even dabbed a few drops of his expensive cologne onto my shirt collar and gave me an extra penny. The carriage he had called for, arrived soon thereafter and that was…" the old man's face darkened with sadness. "… the last time I ever saw him. He died that night. Or so Mother told me the next day."

"Did she tell you how he died?"

"No, I don't think she even knew. It wasn't until a few days later that people started to talk about it. Some said it was an accident. He had fallen and hit his head. I believe that's pretty much the official version of what happened, but of course there were also rumors according to which he was either attacked and killed by his own dog or died from a beating. Both of which I find rather absurd. Peritas would have never turned on his master, and Master Alexander was well trained. I'm pretty sure he would have been able to take down anyone trying to attack him."

_Fallen and hit his head? Is that how he died? Not impossible,_ _I suppose_, Milliardo had to admit, but it didn't answer the question why Alexander was still hanging around. _And who was the 'associate' who found his body and called the authorities?_

_###_

"So, you truly will not tell me how you were able to attain two tickets for opening night, Alexander?" Milliardo found himself sitting in what seemed to be the drawing room at his…no Alexander's house, dressed in a dark evening suit.

Across from him, Alexander laughed. "It was really just a manner of knowing the right people, my dear Octavian."

"I am just surprised how you ever get to know anyone, as little time as you spend on land."

The slight hint of gripe in his voice didn't escape the older man. "I apologize. Have I been neglecting you? I promise, I'll make it up to you soon."

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation, and at Alexander's "Come in!" a young boy, slim and a little short of his age, entered the drawing room. He removed his wool paddock cap and gave a slight bow, first to Octavian then to Alexander.

"Mister Elward said you wanted to see me."

"That is correct, William. I will be out late tonight, so I want you to make sure Peritas gets a nice long walk before you go home today. Take him to the park and let him run. He has become a little lazy of late."

"Yes, Sir."

"Here, take this." Alexander handed the boy a little blue and white chocolate bar that had been sitting on the table. "Someone gave it to me yesterday," he huffed. "As though a grown man like myself would indulge in sweets."

William's eyes went wide. "Thank you, Sir."

Octavian/ Milliardo just smiled. He happened to know that the person who 'gave' that chocolate bar to Alexander was the clerk at the store where he had bought it, probably with William in mind.

"Now go," the tawny-haired man waved his hand. "What are you waiting for?"

"Yes Sir." As the boy dashed out of the room he nearly collided with a middle-aged man sporting an impressive handlebar mustache. –Mister Elward, presumable.

"Watch where you are going, lad! How many times have I told you not to run in the house?"

"I'm sorry." William quickly ducked, dodging a slap to the back of his head and weaseled out of sight.

"Boys will be boys, Albert." Alexander remarked nonchalantly.

"Yes, Sir, of course." The butler was carrying a small silver tray with a letter on it. "This was delivered for you a few moments ago, Sir."

"Thank you, Albert." The tawny haired man took the letter but put it down on the little round tea table without even opening it, while the older man retreated, closing the door behind himself quietly.

"Another brandy?!"

Octavian shook his head; the glass in his hand was still half full. "No thanks, I am fine."

"Shall I have Albert call for a carriage then? We could have the driver drop us a distance from the theater and walk the last few blocks. The evening is beautiful for a stroll, wouldn't you agree?"

"Are you not even going to open that letter?"

"There is no need, it's from the Fleet Admiral and I know already what it is about."

"No bad news I hope." Octavian wondered.

The other man shook his head. "No, I would not exactly call it bad news. I have been offered my own ship, a 2nd class escort cruiser."

"Your own ship. That is just wonderful…is it not?"

"I suppose it is," Alexander agreed. "But it also means I will have to extent my military service for at least another five years, and I would have even less time to spend with you. The captain has to be the first on board before every journey and the last person off when the ship returns home. Therefore I have decided t respectfully decline the promotion. Captain McCallahan is more than happy to keep me as his second in command."

"But…"

"No buts! I might have felt differently two years ago, before I met you. These days, however I'm looking forward to every moment we can be together…"

As usually, the dream faded suddenly and Milliardo found himself on the couch in the living room. The TV was running; Treize was still watching some kind of documentary on the history channel

_No wonder I fell asleep, _the young man thought with a hint of sarcasm as he opened his eyes and yawned.

"Are you alright?" Treize turned his head and looked back at him. "You were mumbling something in your sleep. I wasn't sure if you were having a nightmare and thought about waking you."

"I'm fine, thanks. I just have… well… strange dreams sometimes."

"What do you consider strange?" A ghost of a smirk crossed the professor's face. "You know it's quite normal for a healthy young man to dream about…"

With a snort Milliardo flung one of his pillows at the older man. "I said strange dreams, not wet dreams."

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	20. Chapter 20

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 20**

"Mind if I join you?"

Raising his head from his textbook Wufei change gazed up at his friend. "Ah, Milliardo. What strange wind blew you into the library so early in the morning?"

"It's called finals," the older youth grinned as he put down his own books and notepads and slipped into one of the chairs across from Wufei. Even though it **was** relatively early most of the other desks and tables were already occupied. "And my father's promise to make me pay back any money he spent on my education should I not graduate."

"I see your point." Wufei nodded.

"By the way, before I forget it, you and Duo are going to come to my house on Thursday. I'm planning a little BBQ. I hope you like steaks and bratwurst."

"Love them. Thanks. Is there anything we should bring?"

"Na," Milliardo shook his head. "Just your appetite."

"That shouldn't be too big of a problem," Wufei grinned. "Especially for Maxwell. So, how are things working out between your two 'housemates'?

"Rather civilized. I have to admit that I was a little worried, but I'm feeling better about it by the day."

"The professor hasn't noticed anything yet?" Wufei seemed somehow surprised.

"If he did he hasn't told me about it. I think Alexander tries to stay mostly out of his way. Me on the other hand, I feel like the connection between him and me is only getting stronger."

"You do look… tired," the other youth remarked. "And I assume that's not only due to extensive studying. Do you still having those dreams?"

"They have become more frequent again," Milliardo admitted. "It's usually only short flashback scenes, but when I wake up I find myself pondering them and unable to go back to sleep. I can't shake the feeling that Alexander is trying to tell me something through those dreams something that has to do with his death."

"What about Henry's grandfather? Was he able to tell you anything useful?" Wufei asked. His friend had told him about the old man and his connection to Alexander. Milliardo also mentioned that he and Treize were planning on going to see him again.

"He was of great help, able to answer some questions no one else would have been able to. But it seems that with every answer there comes a whole truckload of new questions." Milliardo quickly summarized what the old man had told them while his friend listened quietly.

"Hmm…" Wufei's brows narrowed as he thought about something for a moment. "Have you ever considered talking to the police? Mister Harold mentioned that Alexander died either by accident, was killed by his dog or murdered, neither of which is a natural cause of death. So it is quite possible that a case file was created about it."

"You know, that's funny. Treize was saying the same thing last night. I believe he was going to look into it. But it's been a hundred years and…" Milliardo trailed off and let the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

The other youth shrugged. "Never know."

"Yea, I guess."

###

Pulling up in front of his house Milliardo was somewhat surprised to see Treize's car parked at the other side of the street. As far as he knew the professor had to be at school by six for some kind of staff meeting, and it was cutting it awfully close if he wanted to get there on time.

"I'm back," the young man announced as he stepped through the front door and kicked off his shoes.

"How was class?" Treize's voice came from the living room. It sounded like he was rummaging for something in there.

"As usual, but I didn't expect to find you still here." Sure enough, as Milliardo walked into the room, his housemate was picking up pillows on the couch as so he was looking for something beneath them. "Did they postpone the meeting?"

"No, I should be on the road by now, but I can't find my car keys again."

The younger man huffed. "You really have got to start hanging them on the keyboard by the door. That's what we bought it for, remember."

"I know," Treize sighed as he checked his watch. "And I could have sworn I did."

_Alexander?! _"Why don't you take my car tonight," Milliardo suggested. "I'm sure your keys will show up eventually. They always do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm not going anywhere tonight." the blond nodded as he walked back into the hall to grab his own keys from their hook only to notice Treize's set right next to them. "Hmm…unless you have bought another car I know nothing off, your keys are right here where they belong."

"Impossible!" Treize frowned. "I checked twice."

Milliardo gave an amused snort. "Maybe it's as they say; your eyesight goes first when you get old. Perhaps I should get you a pair of glasses for your next birthday."

The older man raised one eyebrow. "Are you mocking me? If I wasn't in such a hurry I'd put you over my knee and spank that baby butt of yours," he warned playfully.

"I that supposed to be a threat or a promise?" Milliardo grinned as he tossed him the keys.

Treize returned the smirk but didn't answer. With a brief hug and a quick kiss he headed out the door. Already at the stairs he held his step and turned his head once more. "We will have dinner at the meeting; it will probably run late, so don't wait up for me."

"Okay," the blond acknowledged.

He watched the professor climb into his car and drive off before he closed the door and walked back into the house. It was only a quarter to six, but his stomach reminded him with an unhappy rumbling that his lunch, grabbed on his way from the library to class, consisted of only a coke and a bag of greasy chips from a wending machine.

"Alright Alexander, Treize won't be back until late. You know what that means, right?" he smirked. "Movie night; just the two of us. Why don't you pick something for us to watch while I order dinner?"

As he headed into the kitchen to get the number for the 'China Dragon', a nearby restaurant specializing in Mandarin and Szechuan cuisine, Milliardo could hear the TV turn on and he couldn't help but smile. It seemed that Alexander enjoyed their occasional 'movie night' just as much as he did, even though (or maybe because) they usually ended up watching some kind of old fashion detective show on the mystery channel instead.

#

"You smell wonderful," a deep sultry voice breathed into his ear and Milliardo/ Octavian could feel himself blush.

"It's the cologne you gave me for my birthday," he replied, as he found himself on a blanket beneath the open sky in a field in the middle of nowhere.

Besides him, Alexander played with his long silky hair. The older man was wearing knee-high boots and a coat of deep maroon color over cream colored breeches, and Octavian was dressed in riding habit as well. Their horses were grazing only a few feet away, tethered to the only tree around, while Peritas slept in its shade.

"More wine?" Alexander pushed himself up and reached for a half-filled bottle of Bordeaux sitting at the edge of the blanket.

"No thank you, I had more than my fill. Another glass and I'm afraid I might fall of my horse on the way back."

"You could always ride with me," the other man suggested. "I'd keep you safe, I promise."

Octavian chuckled softly. "As tempting as that might be, I think I'll pass."

Putting the bottle back down, Alexander smiled. He leaned in slowly, his eyes meeting those of his lover's as their lips met in a drawn out, passionate kiss. Octavian moaned quietly.

A sudden flash of lightning, followed by the deep ominous rumbling of thunder not long after, caused the two men to break their kiss and look up into the sky. The sun was still shining but heavy black clouds were approaching from the south. A thunderstorm at this time of the year could move in quick and furiously.

"We should find shelter," Alexander suggested. He was first on his feet, extending his hand toward his lover.

Octavian nodded as he allowed himself to be pulled up. "We passed an old farm house on the way here I believe."

"Let's head there. It is probably the only structure around for miles."

The older man grabbed the wine bottle and glasses, stuffing them into his saddle back along with the blanket, while Octavian already untied their steeds. Sensing the approaching storm, the horses snorted nervously.

It was only a relatively short ride and they could already see the old rundown farm when the downpour started. Another flash of lightning illuminated the now black sky and the thunder followed almost instantly. Spurring their mounts on, they galloped to safety, with the dog following right behind. The farm must have been abandoned years ago. The stable roof had collapsed partially, but at least the side adjacent the main house was dry. Peritas gave a displeased sound as he shook the rainwater from his long silky fur. Octavian couldn't help but laugh.

"I thought he loves water."

"Not when it comes from above and interrupts his afternoon nap." Alexander replied dryly as he dismounted and tied up his horse. He pulled his hunting rifle from the saddle and turned toward his lover. "Stay behind me when we enter the house, just to be safe. Peritas, with me!"

As it turned out the farm house was just as empty as the stable.

"A fireplace, and there is even dry wood." Alexander noted as he looked around what appeared to have been the family room. It didn't take the young man too long to build a fire. Still on his knees he watched the flickering flames for a few moments before turning his head toward Ocatavian.

"What are you waiting for, take off your clothes."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your coat and your trousers are soaking wet, you will catch pneumonia or worse if you do not dry yourself off."

Octavian flushed slightly. "…ah, yes of course."

"I will be right back." In one smooth motion Alexander rose to his feet. "Peritas, stay!" he commanded. But the dog had already made himself comfortable by the warm fireplace, and didn't seem to have any intention to follow his master anyway.

The tawny-haired man left the house, only to return a few moments later, carrying the blanket and the bottle of red wine. "It seems the rain won't stop any time soon, but at least we have a roof over our heads and can keep warm from the inside and out.

Octavian meanwhile had slipped out of his riding coat and now, after a moment of hesitation was taking off his boots and breeches.

Alexander tossed him the wool blanket. "Take this, it will keep you warm."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine." The older man assured him as he started to undress as well.

"The blanket is big enough for both of us; let's share."

"If you insist," Alexander smiled softly.

A few moments later the two men were sitting; huddled together beneath the warm blanket, while their clothes dried by the fire.

The rain was pounding against the windows; the lightning strikes sounded much closer now, and the thunder rumbled ominously.

"Octavian, you are shivering. Are you still cold?"

"Just a little," he admitted. "But I'm sure the room will warm up soon."

Slowly and gently Alexander brought his arm up and put it around his lover. "Better now?" he asked.

Octavian could feel his heartbeat quicken, as he was pulled against the other man's warm body. "Yes, thank you," he nodded.

There was a long moment of silence before the younger man asked. "Don't you think people will begin to wonder if we keep going hunting but never bring back any game to show for?"

"No worry," Alexander chuckled. "We can always blame Peritas for chasing off all the prey. He really is the world's most terrible hunting dog."

"Good," Octavian looked up, a soft smile curving his lips, "because I really love going hunting with you."

#

Milliardo woke to someone gently stroking his head; soft fingers running through his hair.

_Alexander?!_

From what he could tell his head was resting in someone's lap, and a blanket had been pulled over his body. For a moment he considered going back to sleep, but then curiosity got the better of him and he opened his eyes slowly.

"Treize?!"

The other man looked down at him, an amused sparkle in his eyes. "Who did you expect?"

"How long have you been sitting here?"

"A good fifteen minutes."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't have the heart to," the other man smiled.

"How did the meeting go? I mean what do you guys talk about for…" The young man blinked away his sleepiness and squinted at his watch. "…four hours?"

Treize shrugged. "Curriculum… finals… graduation…"

"Graduation?!" Milliardo echoed, cuddling closer against the other man's warm body. "I can't believe it's not even two months from now. Time really flies."

"It surely does, doesn't it?" the other man agreed. "But you know, if you keep falling asleep on this torture rack they call a couch you will end up with a stiff neck or back sooner or later."

"Too late already," the blond groaned as he tried to sit up. He raised one hand to rub his muscles where the shoulders met the neck.

Treize shook his head and clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You should have known better. Come here, turn around and let's see if this helps."

As the younger man complied the professor put his hands onto Milliardo's shoulders with his thumbs pointing at the base of the neck, and slowly started to massage them.

"I always fall asleep watching TV. Ah yes, that feels good." Milliardo closed his eyes in delight. "A little more to the left, please."

"In that case we really should get a new couch. Something that's soft, but more supportive. I swear this one was invented by a chiropractor fishing for new patients."

The younger man gave an amused snort. "Well then, why don't we put that on our to-do-list for the weekend?"

"How about putting a hot tub on that list as well?"

"Hot tub? Now you got my attention. But where are you going to put it, outside in the garden?"

"No, actually I was thinking about the master bath. If we get rid of the shower/tub combination that's in there now, put a new shower a few feet to the left, there will be more than enough room for a Jacuzzi, even one of those larger ones that fits more than one person."

"I love the way you think," Milliardo nearly purred as the older man's hands continued to massage his shoulders. "You got any other brilliant ideas?"

"Actually, I do. I would like you to come with me to visit my mother."

"Sure why not," the blond joked. "Does it have to be tonight, or can it wait until tomorrow?"

"I wasn't kidding." Treize's hand's stopped for a moment. "I'll be visiting her for her birthday as I always do, and I thought you might want to come along."

Milliardo turned his head. "When exactly is her birthday?"

"On the 26th, I was thinking of flying home on Thursday the 25th and come back Sunday night."

"Sorry, no can do. I still have finals on the 25th and 26th."

"Do I detect relief in your voice?" Treize asked, a slight smirk on his lips.

"Of course not," Milliardo insisted. "I'd have loved to meet your mother."

"Liar," the older man accused.

"That hurt." Milliardo batted his eyes in the most innocent way he could master. "Do I look like I could lie to you?"

"My apologies," Treize chuckled but played along. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

A sly smile crossed the younger man's face. "You could start by continuing what you were doing before you accused me of lying, and then slowly work the way up to a full body massage?"

"Full body massage, huh? Well, we will see..."

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	21. Chapter 21

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 21**

Fully concentrated on what he was doing, Treize didn't even look up when Milliardo walked from the patio into the kitchen followed by the aromatic smell of smoking wood and spices. While the younger man was watching over a brisket that was slowly cooking on the BBQ and preparing the steaks and sausages that would go on later, it was his housemate's duty to put together the side dishes, specifically a potato salad and a pot of baked beans. Alright, so the beans came from the can and only needed to be heated. But he was making the salad from scratch following an old family recipe.

Milliardo looked into the fridge then around the kitchen, causing the professor to finally raise his head. "Looking for something?"

"Didn't we buy two bottles of BBQ sauce?"

"No just one. They didn't have that brand you wanted at the market, remember, so you said you would pick up a bottle somewhere else."

"Ah, right. Darn. I totally forgot." Milliardo checked his watch. "I might have to run to the market."

"Do you need it right now?"

"No, I have enough to brush the brisket with, but we will need some more to put on the table later."

"Well I'm almost done. I'm going to toss the spices, bacon, pickles and onions with the potatoes and then it needs to sit for at least an hour for the flavors to merge. During that time I can drive to the store and get whatever we need."

"Great, thanks. Maybe grab some more beer too. I used a few bottles to soak the bratwursts in."

"Alright," thee older man nodded. "If you need anything else make me a list."

###

It was about a quarter after five by the time Treize returned from the market. As far as he knew Wufei and Duo were expected to arrive around six. But when he unlocked the door and stepped into the house he could hear Milliardo talk to someone in the kitchen.

"Could you hand me those bowls? No, the others, the one that match the plates we are using tonight; four of them, no actually five."

_The guests arrived early, I suppose. _Putting on his most charming smile the professor walked toward the kitchen, only to stop dead in his tracks as soon as he reached the door.

There to his left stood Milliardo reaching for a couple of dinner plates in the cabinet above the sink, and above his head, suspended in mid air hovered a matching set of soup bowls.

His yaw nearly hit the floor but he somehow managed a rather lame sounding. "I'm…back."

Startled Milliardo's head snapped around and he nearly dropped his plates as he noticed his roommate in the door staring at him with wide eyes.

"Welcome home!"

Treize watched in utter disbelieve as the stack of bowls slowly moved downward then stopped on top of the counter next to the sink.

"What…?"

Meanwhile Milliardo had managed to pull himself together. "Looks like we really need to talk," He put down his plates and took the shopping bag the professor was carrying. "Let's go into the living room," he suggested as he set the bag down on the table.

"Alright." Even as he followed the younger man Treize couldn't stop himself from looking back over his shoulder several times.

"I didn't…just imagine that, did I?" he finally asked as he settled down on the couch.

The blond shook his head. "You didn't."

"Good, for a moment there I thought I was losing my mind."

"Alexander, would you mind joining us?" Milliardo asked. Moments later he could feel the ghost's presence. It might seem strange, but somehow it just felt rude to talk about him 'behind his back'.

"Alexander?" the older man echoed. "As in Alexander Khushrenada, my great-grandfather?"

"That's right."

_Impossible. This is absolutely ridiculous. But I saw what I saw, didn't I? _"How…?"

"I suppose," Milliardo rubbed his chin as he searched for the best and easiest explanation, "to make a long story short you could say when he died his house was willed to Octavian, but Alexander wasn't quite ready to move out… or on, yet."

"So he has been here…," Treize gestured around the house, "ever since? Since when did you know?"

"My family probably knew for a long time, maybe from the very beginning. I remember my grandmother telling us as children about the ghost in the attic, but of course I never believed in her stories until…"

"Until?!"

"…I met him. It was a few months ago, while cleaning out the attic. Remember I told you about finding my great-grandfather's diary. After that Alexander started to …um… make his presence known. It was one of the reasons why I decided that the house should stay in my family's possession." Over the next ten minutes or so the young man told Treize the whole story about his ghostly house mate, their connection and the strange dreams he, Milliardo, was having ever since he had met Alexander.

"Forgive me for saying so, but all of this sounds very… unbelievable."

"I know. It took me a while to wrap my brain around it, too. So maybe you can understand why I didn't tell you before," Milliardo appologized. "I wanted to, really. But I wasn't sure how you might react. Most people would probably think I'm crazy when I told them I'm living together with a ghost."

"Indeed, I might have reacted the same way," Treize admitted. "It seems though; the two of you have figured that living together part quite nicely."

"Yes," Milliardo smiled as he looked into the general direction of where he could feel Alexander's presence. "He can be quite useful around the house…if he wants to," he added with a smirk.

"So, all the lost car keys, cold showers and missing newspapers I assume were also **his** doing?"

The younger man fought hard not to chuckle. "He is right here and can hear you, you know. You don't have to ask a question in the third person. But yes, he has a bit of a mischievous side. Isn't that right, Alexander? I'm sorry."

"Shouldn't **he** be the one apologizing?"

"He is right, Alexander," Milliardo agreed. But as he turned his head to the left he could feel the ghost retreat.

Treize huffed. "And there he goes."

Milliardo gave the professor a surprised look. "You can sense him?"

"I think I could from the very beginning." The older man confirmed with a nod. "I just didn't realize it. Starting that day you invited me in for coffee I kept having the strange feeling that someone was watching me. Over time it became clear to me that something wasn't right in this house. I thought you felt it too, and that you invited me to live with me because you didn't want to stay here alone."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Treize shrugged. "I guess, didn't want to come across like a nutcase, either."

Suddenly the professor could feel Alexander approaching again, and he looked up, just in time to see a slightly filled cognac snifter floating into the room and toward him. The glass stopped directly in front of him and after a short moment of hesitation Treize reached for it.

"… Thank you." He politely inclined his head before taking a small sip from the drink. "Apology accepted."

In the armchair to his left, Milliardo gave an amused snort. Somehow he had the feeling those two would get along just fine. "Well then, should we get back to preparing dinner? Wufei and Duo should be here any minute and…"

The young man was still trying to finish his sentence when, like on cue, the doorbell rung.

"That's probably them."

#

"Alexander, do you mind opening the door?" Milliardo asked. "But make sure it's really Wufei and Duo first."

"Wait a second," Treize looked at the younger man in surprise. "They know?"

"Yes."

"You told your friends but you couldn't tell me?" The slightly offended tone in the professor's voice was hard to miss.

"It's not like that," Milliardo quickly assured him. "Those two were with me, helping to clean the attic when… umm… Alexander chose to make himself known, if you will. But let's talk about that later."

"Talk about what later?" Duo Maxwell wanted to know.

"Ah guys, hi there," Milliardo greeted his friends with a grin. "Nothing really. We were just talking about our 'third housemate'."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah." The blond looked around. "We don't need any big introductions, do we?"

"I don't think so." Treize agreed as he exchanged handshakes with the two young men. "Please call me Treize."

"Okay, Treize it is. I'm Duo," the braided youth smirked. "Did anyone ever tell you how much you look like that history teacher at Marymount?"

"Yes, I get that all the time. I've heard he is quite the guy, handsome, intelligent and…"

"Full of himself," Milliardo finished the sentence, pleased that the ice had been broken so quickly. "What's that?" he then asked, gesturing at the six-pack in Duo's hand. "I thought I said not to bring anything."

"I told him."Wufei defended himself.

"He did," the other youth confirmed. "But it didn't feel right to come empty handed. Besides, you can never have enough beer, right?"

"Alright, you know where the fridge is, don't you? I'd better check on that brisket. It would be a shame if I let it burn now."

"Yes," Treize agreed. "I'd better get back into the kitchen too. I still have to finish the salad and heat the beans. But…," he looked at Duo then Wufei. "Can I get you something to drink first?"

"Thanks I'm fine for now," Wufei replied and his friend nodded.

"Yes me too."

"Very well." While the professor pulled a sauce pan from the cabinet beneath the stove to heat the beans in, Duo put his beer into the refrigerator.

"So, Milliardo finally decided to tell you about Alexander, huh?" the young man asked.

"Well, it wasn't so much by choice as that I happen to walk in on the two of them."

"Walk in on them," Duo echoed. "Do I even want to know what the two of you were doing, Milliardo?"

Through the open door to the patio they could hear the blond snort. "Get your head out of the gutter, Maxwell, will you? Alexander was helping me set the table. Alexander, feel free to smack him for me."

"Ouch!" Duo protested when he felt a slap against the back of his head. "That's no fair, you know."

Shaking his head in amusement Treize turned toward Wufei. "Are they always like that?"

"I'm afraid so," the young man confirmed with a grin.

#

"Oh man, I don't think I can eat another bite." Duo Maxwell groaned as he leaned back in his chair on the patio.

Wufei huffed. "Now that's something I thought I'd never hear," he teased.

"You do realize you'll have to take home a doggy bag, Maxwell. There are way too much leftovers for Treize and me to eat." Milliardo told him.

"No complains here," the young man grinned. "Hey, Alexander, any chance you can get me another beer."

"He isn't here anymore. Besides, Maxwell, he is not your personal butler, so cut it out. If you want a beer get off your butt and get one. And while you are at it bring me one too."

The braided youth snorted playfully and mumbled something about not being anyone's butler either, as he got up and shuffled into the kitchen. "Where did he go anyway?" he asked as he returned a few moments later with two bottles of dark ale for Milliardo and himself.

"What time is it?"

"Shortly after eight."

"Probably watching TV, he never misses the Mystery Theater."

"Is that why you make me change channels every Tuesday and Thursday night?" Treize asked. "I wasn't complaining because I thought YOU liked that show. But I really don't know how I feel about playing second fiddle to a ghost."

"Little respect for your elders, please." Milliardo grinned. "He IS your great-grandfather after all. But relax, once we have electricity in the attic he'll get his own TV and he won't have to bother us anymore."

"Which reminds me… the electrician called," the professor told him. "They will be here first thing Monday morning for the installation. I asked them to also check out the bathroom while they are here, to make sure there won't be any problems when we get the hot-tub put in. Last thing we need is for all the fuses to blow every time we turn on the Jacuzzi."

Milliardo laughed. "No most definitely not."

"You are getting a hot tub?" Duo asked a trace of envy in his voice. "Seems to me like things are progressing quite nicely… umm… with the reconstruction of the house I mean."

"Of course you did," the blond replied with a smirk, before turning toward the professor. "The electrician coming Monday morning, that means we will have to clean out and move that huge wardrobe this weekend." He really wasn't looking forward to that. Not only was the piece made from solid wood and heavy on its own, it was also stuffed with all kinds of clutter and small boxes that they would have to remove and later put back in. But there was no way around it; the wardrobe blocked the spot the workers needed to drill through to get to the only electrical outlet in reach.

"Is that the huge wooden closet with all those ornaments on the doors?" Wufei asked. He remembered seeing it when they were up in the attic before.

"Yeah," Milliardo confirmed.

"You think the four of us would be able to move it without having to clear it out?"

"Hmm…" Treize exchanged a look with Milliardo. "It might definitely be worth a try, don't you think."

#

"Hold on guys." Duo huffed running up the stairs to the attic. "Wait for me."

"Where did you disappear to anyway?" His friend asked.

"Went to… my truck… to get… these," he panted breathlessly as he held up a set of what looked like little round disks with foam on the inside.

"What are those?" Treize wanted to know.

"Furniture sliders. No respectable mover leaves home without them." Duo explained with a grin. "Okay, help me here. Tilt the dresser just far enough that I can slip one of those under each leg."

It was easier said than done but with a lot of effort and a few tries they managed to put the wardrobe onto the sliders. Treize and Milliardo had already cleared a path for the dresser; now it was simply a matter of moving 500 pound of wood and junk from point A to point B.

"Let me and Treize move our side away from the wall first," Duo suggested. "That will make it a little easier to turn."

Once there was some room between the furniture and the wall, the braided young man tried to get his hand around the back edge. There was a little ledge, only an inch or so wide, but just enough for him to get a better grip.

"Ready?" Treize asked.

"No, hold on, there is something back here."

"Like what," Milliardo wanted to know. "Spider webs?"

Duo rolled his eyes. "That probably too; thanks for reminding me.. But I can feel something else under my fingertips, like cloth or canvas."

"Can you see what it is?"

"No, let's move the dresser just a bit more."

A few moments later there was enough room between the wall and the back of the wardrobe for Duo to look behind it. Milliardo tossed him one of the flashlights he had brought along.

"So, what it is?"

"Hmm… weird." Duo shined the light into the gap. "Looks like… Paintings. Two of them, no three."

"Paintings?" Wufei echoed.

"Yeah." Indeed, someone had put two nails into the backboard of the wardrobe, with twine stretched between them, which kept the paintings in place and prevented them from falling over. "Looks like someone was trying to hide them or so?"

"Who would want to hide paintings behind a dresser?"

"I don't know," Duo shrugged as he carefully removed first one then the other two pictures. They were covered in cobwebs and a layer of dust so thick that they could hardly make out the drawings. The young man reached for the edge of a tablecloth that was covering one of the overstuffed armchairs to wipe off the dust but Treize stopped him.

"Let me. Milliardo can you hand me one of those paintbrushes from the bucket by the door; the softest one you can find." he asked.

"You think these might be valuable?"

"Not sure, but there has to be a reason why they were hidden, right?" The tawny-haired man carefully cleaned one of the pictures. His brows narrowed slightly as he studied it.

"Something wrong?"

"No, but I think I know the house in this painting. Wufei could I have a little more light?"

The young man pointed the large flash light directly onto the canvas, and the professor nodded.

"Indeed, it is as I thought. This house used to belong to the Khushrenada family. It's located just outside of Petersburg. Of course it was confiscated during the revolution, but before that my family used it as a vacation retreat. As a child Alexander probably spent his summers there, together with his brothers."

"So the picture would defiantly have sentimental value for him, but other than that…" Milliardo mused.

"I agree."

"But that still doesn't explain why they were hidden," Wufei remarked. "What about the other pictures. Do you know them as well?"

Treize shook his head. "No, and I don't recognize the artist either. But then again, I'm not much of an expert. But perhaps the real question isn't why they were hidden, but who hid them."

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note: And the plot thickens a little more ;)


	22. Chapter 22

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 22**

"Wufei…Wufei, may I speak to you for a minute?"

The young man looked up from his laptop. He was sitting in the shadow of a large oak tree just outside the library building. "Ah, yes of course. What can I do for you, Professor?"

"Actually, I just have a question. It is alright to call you Wufei while we are in school, isn't it?"

"Absolutely. But I assume that wasn't the question."

Treize laughed. "No." He looked around for a moment, as thought trying to decide if he should…could sit down in the grass in his tan colored trousers.

"There are some benches on the other side of the plaza." Wufei seemed to realize his dilemma. "We probably will be more comfortable sitting there."

"Thanks." Treize nodded as he extended his hand to help the young man to his feet. "This campus is really beautiful, isn't it?" he remarked as they crossed the square.

"Yes," Wufei agreed. "Especially at this time of the year when all the trees are blooming. I also like how they have managed to combine the traditional look with modern conveniences; it was a big reason why I picked Marymount over the other schools I've visited."

"Ah yes, I've heard you were recruited by a number of colleges. Quite impressive."

The younger man made a dismissive gesture. "Not really." He replied humbly.

There was a moment of silence as student and teacher settled down at a table beneath a large canvas umbrella.

"Well, what I wanted to ask you is, if you know of any local traditional Chinese stores."

"Hmm… There is a market on 29th street where I usually buy most of my groceries."

"Yes, I know that place," Treize smiled mildly. "But I'm afraid what I'm looking for is a little more unconventional and probably not found at the China Mart or any ordinary Asian supermarket."

"What exactly is it you are looking for; herbal remedies or medical tonics…?"

"No, not exactly. You see, my problem is… This is really going to sound weird."

Wufei looked at the older man firmly. Suddenly he seemed to understand what Treize was talking about. "Are you trying to buy Rhino horn? You know, aside from the fact that it is highly illegal, there is really no proof that the powder increases male po…"

Treize blinked and stared at the younger man for a second in slight confusion. "Rhi…NO! Oh god, no!" he finally seemed to realize what Wufei was talking about. "I'm afraid you misunderstood. What I'm looking for is a charm or protective ward."

Now it was Wufei's turn to look baffled. "What kind of charm?"

"Something to keep out spirits. I know Chinese are still using charms like that around their house to ward off spirits and prevent them from entering."

Wufei chuckled quietly. "I'm sorry, I really **did **misunderstand. I have to say I'm not sure what surprises me more, you knowing so much about Chinese culture and traditions or you actually believing in them."

The professor sighed. "If you had this talk a few weeks ago, I'd probably have laughed about the idea, but let's just say my look on things have changed quite a bit recently. And that's exactly where my problem lies. I find the idea of Alexander being able to walk into any room at any given time a bit…disconcerting to say the least."

"I think I understand," Wufei nodded. "And I know exactly the place where you will find what you are looking for. I'll write the address down for you."

"Thank you."

"No problem at all," the young man replied as he ripped a page from his notebook. "Say, Milliardo mentioned you are going to talk to the police about Alexander's death?"

"Yes, in fact the Sheriff is going to meet with us tomorrow afternoon. He sounded quite interested as I talked to him over the phone."

Wufei scribbled the address onto the paper and handed it to the professor. "Please, let me know how it went. I'm curious to find out what happened to Alexander."

"Will do," Treize assured him with a nod. "And thanks again."

###

"Sheriff Bonaparte, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with us," Treize greeted the tall, bearded man as he and Milliardo entered his office at the city hall.

"Not at all." The sheriff rose from behind his desk to exchange handshakes with his guests. "Mister Khushrenada, yes?"

"That's right. Treize Khushrenada. And this is a friend of mine, Milliardo…"

"…Peacecraft," Bonaparte nodded. "We've met before."

"We have?" Milliardo asked, slightly surprised. "What did I do, speed down Main Street."

"I hope not," the sheriff laughed. "No, it was at your grandfather's 75th birthday party. But I am not surprised you don't remember. You were about 'ye high," He indicated about the height of his desk, "but you made it quite clear that you would be my next deputy sheriff. But let's have a seat, shall we."

"Did I really?" Milliardo asked, more than just a little embarrassed.

Treize on the other hand seemed to find the incident quite amusing. As he settled down in one of the chairs in front of the desk he brought his mouth close to Milliardo's ear and whispered: "I **do** love a man in uniform."

The younger man shot him a quick glare but didn't warrant the comment with a reply.

"I have to admit, I was quite excited when you told me over the phone what you wanted to talk to me about." Bonaparte admitted as he leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers in front of his stomach.

"Oh?!" Treize raised one eyebrow questioningly.

"You see, since the police force in this city was established in 1852, we have prided ourselves on the fact that we were able to solve every major crime, except for one that is."

"My great-grandfather's death?" the professor surmised.

"That's right. And in addition, it is also very personal to me. My grandfather was what you would call today a rookie detective when he worked the case. It was his first investigation involving a fatality; and a very mysterious one to top it off."

"I read in an old paper that it was determined to be an accident." Milliardo remarked.

The sheriff nodded. "Yes, that was the official version. But my grandfather was never convinced. He said there were too many holes in the story and too many leads that could never be followed. I think it bothered him a lot that he never found out what really happened. I remember him talking about the case with my father when I grew up and as I got older he told me about it as well." The bearded man laughed. "In my childish naivety I promised him that someday I would solve the case for him."

"Is there something like a case file?" Treize wanted to know.

"I thought you would ask." Bonaparte started to rummage in his desk drawer and pulled out a rather thin folder and a few old fashioned evidence bags. "My father had made copies of every document in the original case file; reports, witness statements etc," he explained as he handed the folder to the professor. "Feel free to take them with you. I made another copy for myself. And these are the items, or at least those that survived, that were taken from the scene. As you probably understand I can't let you take them out of this room."

"Understandable," Treize nodded. "Sheriff, you seem to know a lot about the case, without me having to read the file right now, could you tell me what happened?"

"Yes, of course. From what I know, the police was called to the Khushrenada residence shortly after three o' clock in the morning by the family doctor, who already had pronounced the victim dead," Bonaparte told his guests, in the 'matter of fact' voice of someone used to given crime reports.

"The family doctor?" Treize echoed. "So he was called first?"

"Yes," the sheriff confirmed.

"Let me guess," Milliardo threw in. "By Octavian Peacecraft?" He wasn't sure why, but for some reason that idea just struck him.

"No, but that's very interesting that you would say that, because the man who found the duke's body was…"

"Cedric Peacecraft." Treize finished the sentence. He had opened the folder and begun to read the report.

"His father?" Milliardo was surprised. That was something he really hadn't expected. What would his great-great grandfather be doing at the Khushrenada residence in the middle of the night, not to mention the night of his son's wedding?

"According to his statement to the first police officer," the professor explained as though he was reading the younger man's mind. "As a good friend of the family, Duke Khushrenada had been a guest at his son's wedding. However, Alexander excused himself early, stating that he felt a bit under the weather. Aware that the duke had let his only live-in servant go a few days earlier, Cedric decided to check up on him to make sure Alexander had made it home safely. Upon arriving at the residence he found the front door open and could hear the duke's dog bark in the backyard. After entering the house and finding Alexander he sent his driver to fetch the doctor. And that's pretty much it."

Bonaparte nodded. "The first statement was taken by an on duty officer from the night shift. By the time my grandfather arrived Mr. Peacecraft had already left."

"So the detectives never really talked to him?" Milliardo asked.

"No, not as far as I know."

Treize put down the report and reached for the next page in the folder, it was a copy of the death certificate written by a Doctor Stanton, who seemed to have been the family's physician as well as the coroner in the case.

"Looks like the good doctor wasn't quite sure of himself, either. Although, he lists the death as an accidental fall, he did send for the police, which was usually only done in the cases of death by violent means. And as far as I know obvious accidents don't count as such."

"I'm impressed. You are very knowledgeable, Mister Khushrenada." the sheriff admitted. "And you are probably right. Perhaps the doctor realized that things somehow didn't seem to add up. According to the 'accidental fall' theory the duke was probably intoxicated, - an empty bottle of brandy was found on the floor beside his desk in the study – tripped and hit his head on a hard surface or edge. However he was found near the top of the stairs and there wasn't really anything around that could have caused the injury on his head. Of course it was speculated that he probably fell in his study and then stumbled into the hall where he collapsed, probably trying to reach the phone and call for help. However, there wasn't any blood found in the study or on the way from there to where his body was found. Not to mention that there was the open front door and the dog locked out in the garden…"

"Then why didn't the police investigate those things?" Milliardo wanted to know.

Sheriff Bonaparte shrugged. "Not for lack of trying on my grandfather's side. He was convinced that the duke had been murdered either in a burglary gone wrong or premeditated. But like I said he was a very young rookie on his first case; his partner a veteran detective, who might have felt that the accident theory sounded far less troublesome then a murder investigation. Things were very different back then. One just didn't question his superior."

"Just out of curiosity," the professor asked. "Did your grandfather ever mention if he perhaps had a 'suspect' in the case?"

"He did, two in fact," the other man confirmed. "Number one of his list of course was that housekeeper/butler who had been fired by the duke just a few days earlier. The butler did it, now how cliché would that be? In any case, while talking to the other servants my grandfather learned that his dismissal had been preceded by an argument between him and his employer. According to the cook it was highly unusual for the duke to ever raise his voice in anger. My grandfather reported that to his superiors and was granted permission to question the man, Elwood I believe was his name."

"Elward actually," Treize corrected.

"You heard of him then?"

"Ah, yes. I take it his interrogation let nowhere?"

"It never happened, actually. Elward had moved to Bradwood Hills to live with his recently widowed sister-in-law. My grandfather traveled there to find out that the man was ill, bedridden since several days according to his sister-in-law. A few weeks later he died, before Grandfather ever had a chance to talk to him."

"And the second suspect?" Milliardo wanted to know.

Bonaparte gave him a strange look, but didn't answer.

"My great-great-grandfather?!" It was a statement rather than a question.

The sheriff nodded. "There were some inconsistencies in his statement. For example, he claimed that he left the Wilcroft manor, where the wedding party was held, around two o'clock. It was only a short carriage ride to Kensington Plaza which would have put him there about 15 minutes later. However, according to an account by a Miss Rutherford living in the house just across the street from Duke Khushrenada, she woke up at 1:30 when the dog started barking. The ruckus made her look out of her window and she noticed the Pecacecraft's carriage across the street. She had no problem recognizing it because apparently the younger Peacecraft was a frequent visitor at the duke's house."

"What did my great-great-grandfather say to that?"

"Nothing. He was never asked about it. You see, the 'brass' at the police department didn't mind sending my grandfather out to investigate the duke's former servant, but making any accusations against a high-standing member of society like the patriarch of the Peacecraft family, only on the word of an old lady who might or might now have read her clock wrong, would have surely been professional suicide back then." Bonaparte looked at Milliardo. "No offence."

"None taken," the young man assured him. "So, that was it?"

The sheriff shrugged. "Things might have turned out different if someone would have stepped forward and demanded a thorough investigation. But as long as the duke's family was satisfied with the accident theory everyone else seemed happy, too."

"No reason to wake sleeping dogs, huh?" Treize remarked, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"I suppose so. Grandfather tried some investigations on his own but they led nowhere. There was no sign of a break in, no murder weapon, so real sign of a struggle…perhaps the doctor was right and it really was nothing but a freak accident."

"Maybe. So what's in the evidence bags?" the professor asked.

"Well, this is a letter the duke seemed to have been writing that night. It's not finished, though."

"May I take a look?"

"Of course, let me just get you a pair of cloves…"

"Ah right, fingerprints," Treize nodded softly.

"No actually," the sheriff smiled. "I'm not really concerned about those. Everyone who touched this letter originally is dead by now anyway. However the paper has become a little fragile over the past 100 years, so please be careful," he urged as he handed the professor a pair of white cotton gloves he had pulled from his desk.

"Thank you."

Milliardo leaned over the professor's shoulder to get a better look as he carefully removed the letter from the bag and unfolded it.

"It's addressed to the fleet admiral of the navy," the young man frowned slightly.

"Indeed," Treize nodded as his eyes flew over the lines. "Looks like Alexander changed his mind. He is accepting promotion to captain and is asking for immediate reassignment to his new ship."

Milliardo's frown only deepened. Something must have happened, perhaps at the wedding, which made him change his mind. He looked at the letter for a long time then raised his head. "Sheriff, you said Alexander was assumed to be drunk, right? I have read several letters written by him before and I can't see any difference in his handwriting."

"I agree," Treize remarked. "There is no indication that he had more than a drink or two, which he probably had every night before bed from what I've heard. Which of course, doesn't mean anything. Even sober people are known to stumble and fall on occasion. What's in the other bag?"

"Now this," the sheriff announced, his voice hushed for effect, "is the real mystery. When the duke was found he was holding this cufflink in his hand. The servants didn't recognize it to be his, but it looks rather expensive. And before you ask; no it did not belong to Cedric Peacecraft either. The policeman who took his statement noted that he was wearing both of his cufflinks at the time."

They didn't have to take the jewelry out of the bag to view it. From what Treize could tell the cufflink was made of yellow gold, inlayed with diamonds in a starburst pattern; very elegant and stylish even by today's standards. Back then they had probably cost more than a small fortune.

The sheriff checked his watch and gave his guest an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but as much as I'd love to sit and talk to you some more, I have an appointment to keep."

"Don't apologize," Treize told him. "You have been very helpful. Oh Sheriff, did you know that one of Alexander's 'servants' is actually still alive?"

"No, I had no idea."

"My great-grandfather's maid had a son who she often brought to the house while she worked. He took care of the duke's dog while he was there. We met him more or less by accident a few weeks ago. I don't assume anyone talked to the kid back then, did they?"

"Not as far as I know."

"I didn't think so. Thanks again. We'll stay in touch?"

"Absolutely." Bonaparte nodded. "It would be quite something if we actually would be able to solve this case after all those years, wouldn't it?"

"Indeed," the professor confirmed. "You said we could take those with us, didn't you?" he gestured at the folder with the case reports.

"Yes, go right ahead."

#

"You are awfully quiet." Treize turned his head and looked at the young man sitting next to him in the passenger seat. Milliardo hadn't spoken more than a few words since they had left the sheriff's office.

"Just thinking."

"What about"

"All kinds of things. Why is it that every answer in this case always comes with a dozen new questions attached?"

"I wish I knew," the professor admitted.

"I think we should talk one more time with Mister Harold." Milliardo suggested. "Children sometimes pick up on things adults find too mundane to even be bothered with."

"I think that's a great idea."

"This time we should invite him to our house. Maybe the familiar surroundings will trigger some new memories."

"Aren't you full of splendid ideas today?" Treize remarked teasingly as he leaned over to nuzzle the young man's neck.

"Well, here is another one. Keep your eyes on the road while you are driving. I really would like to get home in one piece."

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note: In this chapter we are introduced to Sheriff Bonaparte, and it was suggested that I should point out that a sheriff is more than what most people know from watching old western movies.  
According to Encarta in the US the sheriff is the chief law enforcement official for a county, in a lot of English countries he is the senior official representative of a county.


	23. Chapter 23

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 23**

"…if you ask me, I think it's kind of sweet?"

"Sweet?" Milliardo snorted as he turned off his car engine and pulled out the key. "Must be a girl thing."

He had called Lucrezia Noin on his way home from school to employ her help in the research of Alexander's death. As a journalistic major she probably had ways to find old news articles and reports. How and when the conversation had turned from that to his love life, however, he had not the slightest idea.

"He is just being a gentleman and trying not to rush you."

"Having sex at the first date is rushing it, Noin. Still not having gone all the way after three months… I would have to check, but I believe that's even against the Geneva Conventions."

On the other end of the line his friend laughed. "You never change, Miri. But hey, I have to go; class is starting in 10 minutes."

"Alright, catch you later." Milliardo waited for her to hang up before he too closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket. A soft smile on his lips, he grabbed the canvas bag that held his laptop and textbooks from the passenger seat and locked the car before walking up to the house.

"I'm home," the young man announced as he stepped through the front door, but didn't receive an answer.

As he kicked off his shoes his eyes fell upon some red dots on the stairs and a large, handwritten note at the bottom step. He could hear soft music coming from upstairs and for a moment he thought it was Alexander playing the piano but then he realized it came from the second floor A slight frown wrinkled the young man's forehead as he stepped closer only to recognize that those 'spots' were rose petals. He crocked his head to the left to read the note: "I'm waiting for you!"

Milliardo raised one eyebrow. Curious and intrigued he put down his bag and followed the trail of flower petals all the way up the stairs and into the major bathroom, where he found his housemate lighting the last of about two dozen aromatic candles.

Dressed only in a fluffy, pristine white robe the older man turned around with a smile. "Happy Anniversary!"

That was right; it had been exactly three months since they first had met. Not only did Treize remember, but apparently he had also planned a very special evening for the two of them.

"Happy Anniversary to you, too." Milliardo returned the smile. "Don't I fell…overdressed."

"Well, then, why don't you let me do something about that?" Treize asked, his voice soft and seductive, as he embraced the young man.

Milliardo's eyes caught the filled hot tub. Little swirls of steam rose from the water's surface then disappeared into the air. "Do you think it is okay to use it already?" he asked.

The older man nodded. "They said to wait 24 hours to let the grout dry. It's been nearly 72 hours, so it will be perfectly fine," he assured his lover before dipping his head and covering Milliardo's mouth with his own.

The young man moaned quietly. His lips parted invitingly allowing Treize to slip his tongue between them. While they kissed the older man slowly started to undress him. Nimble fingers unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it gently over his shoulders. Their lips parted and Treize placed a trail of soft butterfly kisses along Milliardo's chin and neck. He traced the young man's collarbone with his tongue, sending little waves of pleasure through his body.

Closing his eyes in delight, Milliardo felt like melting into the other man's gentle caresses, but in the very back of his brain a little part that hadn't fully clouded pleasure yet he suddenly remembered that they weren't the only ones in the house.

"Wait, Treize."

The tawny-haired man raised his head slightly, blue eyes burning with passion gazing upon his partner. "What is it, dear?"

"I don't know… Maybe we should…"

"If you are worried about Alexander walking in on us, don't be." Treize breathed into his ear, as though he could read the younger man's mind. "I've already taken care of it."

"What…" Another pleasant shiver went down Milliardo's spine as the professor's hot, wet tongue traced his ear. "What did you do?"

Treize gestured at a small peach-wood charm dangling from the door handle. "It's a protective charm. I asked Wufei help me finding one."

"It won't hurt or harm him, will it?" The blond looked back at the little round amulet.

"Of course not." The older man gently turned Milliardo's head back toward him, a soft smirk on his lips. "Just think of it as a 'do not disturb' sign for ghosts. Besides, it probably isn't needed anyway; a true gentleman wouldn't walk in on someone's private moment anyway."

"You think of everything, don't you?"

"Doing my best." The professor's smirk turned into a grin. "Now where were we?"

Milliardo's shirt finally dropped to the floor, and as the smell of lavender and sandalwood from the candles spread, Treize continued to undress the young man; slowly and tenderly peeling away his clothes one layer at a time while covering the newly exposed skin with hot passionate kisses.

"If you may?!" He extended his hand for assistance as Milliardo, completely nude and beautiful, stepped into the waiting hot tub.

The young man lowered himself into the water and closed his eyes in delight.

"The water isn't too hot is it?"

"It's perfect." Milliardo cracked open one eye. "Aren't you coming?"

"I am." Treize assured him as he quickly turned off the overhead lights, and slipped out of his bathrobe. He climbed into the tub and settled down across from Milliardo. In the soft light of the flickering candles the young man's hair sparkled like silver.

The professor reached out and pulled a bottle of champagne from a cooler sitting alongside two glasses on a small stool to his left. He filled both flutes and handed one off to his companion. "What shall we drink to?" he asked.

"Let's drink to our great-grandfathers and the wonderful coincidences that brought us together."

As the two men tapped the rims of their glasses together their eyes met, and just like that day when he invited Treize in for a cup of coffee, Milliardo felt mesmerized by the color and intensity in those blue orbs. He took a small sip from his drink before setting the glass down on the wide rim of the tub.

Treize was still studying him. He smiled softly, seductively. "Would you like a massage?" he offered as he put down his own glass.

"I'd like a lot more than just a massage," Milliardo replied, his voice deep and sultry.

"Is that so?" the professor asked while he reached out to pull the young man into his lap. "Why don't you tell me a little more about what you'd like?" he breathed into his ear.

"I can do you one better," Milliardo countered. "I'll show you."

###

"_You said we would always be together. You can't leave me…I need you, Alexander. You promised… don't leave me…"_

Milliardo woke with a start. His heart was beating frantically. Keeping his eyes closed he tried to calm himself down. It was the third time tonight he had been having the same short flashback dream. And every time he woke he couldn't remember more than just a few seconds of it.

Beside him he could feel Treize stir. "Is everything alright, Milliardo?" The older man's voice was heavy with sleep. "You have been tossing and turning."

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to wake you. I'm fine it's just…"

"Bad dream?"

"Yeah."

"Come here." The older man reached out, pulling him gently into his arms.

Gratefully, Milliardo nestled against his warm chest. "Thanks."

"Go back to sleep, dear. You have classes in the morning, don't you?" Kissing the top of his head, Treize wrapped the young man safely into his arms.

With a content sigh Milliardo closed his eyes. But sleep didn't come easy. No matter how hard he tried his mind keep wandering back to the little piece of his dream he could remember. He still could hear the desperation in Octavian's voice. Was this another flashback to something that had actually happened in the past, or was it just a nightmare born from his own imagination. He could not tell.

After what seemed forever the young man finally opened his eyes. Treize's breathing was deep and even, indicating that he had fallen asleep again. Mindful not to wake him, Milliardo slipped from the other man's embrace and out of bed. He grabbed one of the bathrobes, discarded on the floor last night, and pulled it on. With a last look back over his shoulder he sneaked out of the room and down the hall to his own bedroom where he changed into a pair of sweat pants and a long sleeved T-shirt.

#

When Treize woke again he found the other side of the bed empty, every last trace of body heat long gone. Milliardo must have left a while ago. With a yawn the tawny haired man pushed away his covers.

It was not only five o clock in the morning. Did Milliardo go back to his own bed, or was he up already?

"Milliardo?" he called out quietly as he headed downstairs a few minutes later, wearing a bathrobe over his silk pajama bottoms.

"In here." The young man's voice came from the living room, where Treize found him surrounded by papers and pictures on the carpet in front of the lit fireplace.

"How long have you been sitting here?"

"Couple of hours," Milliardo replied without even raising his head. "No use staying in bed if you can't sleep. Besides, there was something I wanted to check."

"Oh?" the professor asked, curiously.

"Yes, take a look at this!"

Treize stepped close enough to look over the young man's shoulder. "What am I looking at?" he asked.

"It's my great-grandparent's wedding painting."

"Yes, I can see that; but what about it made you pull it out in the middle of the night?"

"Take a real close look." Milliardo suggested.

"Hmm…" Bracing himself with one hand on the young man's shoulder, Treize leaned in closer and studied the painting thoroughly for a few moments. Suddenly his eyed widened. He drew a sharp breath. "That's…!?"

"Yes," the blond confirmed. "The moment Sheriff Bonaparte showed us that cufflink I knew I had seen it before somewhere, I just couldn't remember where."

"But wait," the professor walked around Milliardo and lowered himself onto the carpet across from him. "Even if the cufflink Octavian is wearing looks identical the one Alexander was clutching in his hand when he died… This is a painting. It is very unlikely that your grandparents took time out of their busy wedding day to sit model for it. So it was obviously painted later. Which means, if Octavian still had his cufflink by the time he was modeling for the picture, the one found at the crime scene couldn't have belonged to him."

"Unless, of course they didn't have to sit model," the young man pointed out.

Treize frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"In 1902 photography was still a far cry from what it is today and most of all only black and white….or gray in gray really. But I'm sure photos were defiantly taken at the wedding, and from one of those photographs the painting might have been later created. That's what I have been looking for," Milliardo explained, as he gestured at the photo albums and boxes around him. "Wanna give me a hand?"

"Sure, but tell me, Milliardo, what makes you so certain that Octavian was at the house that night. Do you really think he would have left his wife on their wedding night?"

"I don't know," the young man admitted. "It's just a feeling I have, but it worries me."

"Did you have any new…dreams again?"

Milliardo had told Treize about his 'flashbacks' and how he thought they were Alexander's way of communicating with him. Or perhaps Octavian's way, he hadn't fully figured it out yet.

"I'm not sure. I dreamed last night, but it was different. Usually when I wake up and remember the whole scene crystal clear. This time I can only recall small bits like broken pieces of a movie. Maybe… maybe they were just normal nightmares."

"What is it you do remember?"

"Octavian telling Alexander not to leave him, but I can't tell you where their conversation took place. However, I do have a feeling it was here at the house." Milliardo looked up at the other man. "Treize…Do you think it is possible that Octavian… I mean that he killed Alexander?"

"What makes you think that?" the professor asked softly.

"As I said, I don't know. But like they say, there is a fine line between love and hate. Something definitely happened that day at the wedding, something that made Alexander leave and decide to accept his promotion. What if Octavian went to him that night; to talk things over perhaps? What if they got into an argument that escalated…?"

Treize shook his head. "I don't believe it." There was no doubt in his voice. "Octavian wasn't that kind of person, not from what I have come to know about him. Besides, it was not him but his father who found the body."

"He could have called him. It wouldn't have been the first time and most certainly not the last time in history that a father tried to cover up his son's crime."

"Think about it, Milliardo. If Alexander was killed by Octavian, he had a whole lifetime to take 'revenge' while they lived here under the same roof. Does Alexander seem like a vengeful spirit to you?"

"Not really," the young man admitted.

"No," Treize confirmed with a slight smirk. "He is more like Casper the friendly ghost, or rather Casper the mischievous ghost." He had to duck his head quickly to avoid the rolled up newspaper that came hurling toward his head. "Yes, I knew you were here. And a good morning to you too."

The blond chuckled and turned his head toward where he too could feel Alexander's presence. "It's good to see you two getting along so nicely."

The ghost moved closer and then the photo album in Milliardo's lap closed. His brows narrowed in surprise. "Alexander?!"

"I think he is trying to tell you to let it go," Treize interpreted. "And for once I wholeheartedly agree with him."

"But…"

"Milliardo…Octavian was not a murderer!"

The young man sighed. "I wish you could tell us what really happened that night, Alexander."

"That would be convenient," the professor agreed. "But since it doesn't seem to be possible, we will have to find other ways. Tuesday afternoon, Mister Harold is coming by and we will see if he can tell us anything new. Do you think you will still recognize him, after all these years, Alexander?"

"Alright," Milliardo set aside the album and pushed himself up onto his feet. "I think I'll go make some coffee, I'll need two cups this morning if I want to make it through my classes."

"Oh yes, I'll take two cups too. You know, I'm really going to miss your coffee while I'm at my mother's house, next weekend."

"My coffee? That's all you are going to miss?"

"Of course not." Treize put on his most charming smile. "I'll miss YOU even more, and I'll think of you every minute that I'm gone."

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note: Alright, this chapter is a little shorter than most but it's just the way it works out. The story is approaching the final stretch. Another 3 chapters (and a short epilogue) and it will be done.


	24. Chapter 24

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 24**

"Something smells awfully good." Treize held his step in the door to the kitchen to soak in the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies. He had stopped at the market on his way home from school, to pick up a couple of things he had noticed on the grocery list.

Milliardo was just pulling a baking sheet from the oven while a second batch was already cooling on a rack by the window.

Approaching the younger man from behind, the professor leaned over his shoulder and placed a kiss onto his cheek. "Those look absolutely scrumptious," he remarked with a look at the little round cookies on the sheet. "I didn't realize you can bake, as well."

"Neither did I," Milliardo admitted with a smirk. "But Alexander got me this really old but rather simple recipe…"

"May I try one?"

"Yes, but take one from the cooling rack, unless you want to burn your tongue."

"I'd prefer not to." The tawny haired man studied the batch for a few moments then picked a cookie with a generous amount of sugar crystals on top. He put it into his mouth and chewed it while Milliardo waited with bated breath for his judgment.

Treize closed his eyes in delight. The cookie was sweet, but not too sweet with just a touch of spiciness. He could taste a little ginger and cinnamon and a lot of honey. It took him right back to his childhood. "Absolutely delicious," he declared. "I hadn't tasted these in years."

The blond gave him a questioning look.

"My mother used to make them all the time when I grew up. It's an old family recipe; even older than I had thought, it seems. Apparently his dog and the painting of the Khushrenada summer house were not the only things Alexander took with him when he left home," Treize explained as his eyes searched for another sugar loaded cookie, but when he reached out to snatch it Milliardo slapped his fingers.

"No more. Those are for later this afternoon when old man Harold is coming over. So, keep your hands off them." The young man waved spatula threateningly.

"Alright, alright, no need to get violent." The professor laughed. "When is Mister Harold going to be here?"

"His grandson is going to drop him off before hockey practice, around 4:30, he said and…" Milliardo trailed off and raised his hand to cover a yawn. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

Treize gave him a sympathetic look. "You're still having trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah, I think I'll feel better after I turn in my last paper tomorrow and finish those last two finals."

"Why don't you go try to take a nap now? It's still more than two hours before Mister Harold will be here," the older man suggested.

"But I still have to clean up this mess." Milliardo looked around the kitchen.

"Don't worry about it; we will take care of it. Won't we Alexander?"

"But…"

"No buts." His voice leaving no room for arguments, Treize untied Milliardo's apron and slipped it over the young man's head. "Go to bed!"

"Alright," the blond finally agreed. "Wake me at 4 if I'm not down by then." He left the kitchen but not without turning one more time at the door. "Alexander, I'm putting you in charge. Make sure he doesn't eat any more of those cookies."

###

"That should do it," Treize looked around the now sparkling clean kitchen. "Thanks for your help, Alexander."

_I hope Milliardo is getting some rest_. The professor thought as he headed upstairs. _Maybe I should check on him._

He slowly and carefully opened the door to the master bedroom. Milliardo lay sprawled across the wide bed, seemingly sound asleep. The black and white throw he had been using as a blanket, had slipped away. Afraid to wake the young man Treize fought the urge to pick it up and cover him again. Instead he quietly closed the door and tiptoed away.

Flicking on the overhead light as he walked into the study, the professor headed straight for the large desk under the window. A small business card on top of the stack of the police reports had the sheriff's private cell phone number scrabbled on the back. Treize reached for the phone and dialed the number. Moments later someone picked up on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Sheriff, its Treize Khushrenada."

"Ah, yes. How are you?"

"Doing well, thanks. How about yourself?"

"I'm fine, too. What can I do for you, Mister Khushrenada?"

"Actually, I have a question. A good friend of mine, who I served with, works now as an investigator for the military's intelligence service. I talked to him the other day and he would be willing to have a look at what little evidence is left from my great-grandfather's case. He has access to the best forensic resources in the country. Would that be alright with you? He would of course go through official channels and make sure the chain of evidence isn't broken."

"In that case I don't see a problem." Bonaparte replied. "I just don't see what he is hoping to find from an old letter and a single cufflink."

"Never know, right," Treize replied. "Also I read in the report that the police found a smear of blood at the bottom of the stairs and another one by the back door leading into the garden. You wouldn't know if they took any samples of those, would you?"

"I highly doubt it. Aside from the fact that it was probably too small of an amount of blood, there was very little they could have done with it back then. Even blood typing was still in its infancy."

"Yes, you are probably right," the professor sighed. "It would have been nice thought to have it today. Do you have any idea how those blood smears were explained, though? I mean, Alexander never made it downstairs."

"If I remember right it was assumed that the dog stepped into the blood upstairs or sniffed his bleeding master and left those marks on his way outside. The patrol man did, if I remember correctly note that he observed what appeared to be dried blood in the dogs fur."

"Which let to that unconfirmed rumor that the duke had been attacked and killed by his own dog, I assume. But it doesn't explain how Peritas got outside in the first place. There was no 'doggy door'."

"Yes, that's a good question."

"Anyway, I have already taken enough of your time. I'll have my friend contact you as soon as possible about that letter and the cufflink."

"Very well, I'll let my secretary know to expect his call."

###

"Is Duke Khushrenada in?"

"Indeed, the duke just returned home." The butler replied stiffly as he stepped aside to let Octavian/ Milliardo step into the entry. "Please wait here, while I announce you."

"Thank you, Albert." Octavian pulled off his white gloves as he looked around. A vase with fresh roses sat on the little commode to his right. Alexander always made it a point to cut a bouquet after he returned from sea.

"Who is it, Albert?" The duke's voice came from upstairs even before the butler reached the first landing.

"It's Mister Peacecraft, Sir. Would you like me to show him to the drawing room?"

"No, bring him upstairs. We will sit in my study."

Octavian nodded at the servant. "Thank you Albert, I can find the way myself."

A few moments later he walked into the study. "Alexander!"

The other man returned the greeting with a curt nod. "Octavian."

Although,they always kept a certain formality unless they were in private; Alexander seemed a little more reserved than usual. Peritas on the other hand seemed more than happy to see the young man. The large dog jumped up from his blanket by the fireplace to greet him, his long tail sweeping the ground in excitement.

"Please have a seat. Should I have Albert bring us something to drink; tea perhaps?"

"No thank you, I'm fine." Octavian replied as he settled down in one of the green and gold chairs. "Father told me this morning that he saw you in church on Sunday. Since when have you been in town?"

"Since Friday."

"I had no idea. Why didn't you come by?"

"But I did," Alexander replied, as he too took a seat. "I went to your house on Saturday. When I arrived there your carriage just pulled out, and one of your servants told me that you and your betrothed had just went for a drive."

Octavian swallowed.

"When were you planning on telling me, Octavian?" the duke asked sharply. "After your wedding? Or wait, perhaps you explained it all in a letter, but in got lost in the post?"

"I didn't." the younger man admitted. "I wanted to tell you person to person…" he stared down into his lap. "I thought you'd deserve at least that much."

"Fine, here we are person to person. So tell me, what happened? What happened to all those plans we had made, to our future together, to our promises to be together for the rest of our lives?"

"I'm sorry, Alexander. I truly am." Octavian's voice was barely above a whisper. Finally he looked up. "Father is dying."

"Excuse me…?" Alexander looked surprised and shocked.

"His doctor told him last month. He probably doesn't have more than a year, and of course he is trying to bring his affairs in order now."

"Which includes marrying off his oldest son," the duke concluded.

"I'm sorry," Octavian repeated. "I know this isn't how I… how **we** had planned the future, but someone will have to take over the business and take care of my mother and my sisters after Father is gone…"

"No, I should be the one apologizing." Alexander's expression softened. "This must be difficult enough to deal with, without me barking at you."

Octavian's eyes lit up slightly. "You are not angry then? I was so worried how you might react, so worried of loosing you."

"Angry?' the older man echoed, "...of course not. I could never be angry at you. Although, I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed and a not to mention a little jealous. I had hoped that it would be you and I spending the rest of our lives together. Giving you up to someone else won't be easy."

"But you don't have to. Nothing has to change between us. You see, Constance knows, and she understands."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I told her, about me, about us…"

"You did what?"

#

"He did what?" Treize's surprised expression nearly mirrored that of his great-grandfather when Milliardo told him about his newest dream vision a short time later.

"He had told his future wife about his relationship with Alexander and that he had no intention of ending it," the young man confirmed. "You see, from what I've gathered, the Peacecraft and Fletcher family had been socializing since long before their children were born. Constance and Octavian grew up together and apparently have been each other's confidants for a long time."

"So, she agreed to marry him knowing he didn't actually love her?"

"That wasn't that uncommon back then, was it?"

"I guess not."

"The marriage benefitted both families. Fletcher was the senior partner in one of the largest law firms. He probably wouldn't have agreed to marry his only daughter to Octavian if he hadn't seen the potential in Peacecraft Industries."

"So it was a business decision." Treize remarked.

"All the way around, apparently," Milliardo confirmed. "It seems that Constance was anything but your typical 19 century woman. She had no desire to become a dutiful housewife and mother sitting patiently at home while her husband went out to visit gentlemen clubs with his male associates. A while ago I found some old documents somewhere according to which she actually went on to a woman's college after she got married; at least for a few years until she became pregnant with my grandfather."

"So, the two of them 'conspire' to get married for their parent's sake and for outside appearance, but plan to keep living their own separate lives in private," the professor concluded in a mixture of surprise and amazement.

"Sounds like Constance was Octavian's Noin." Milliardo smirked.

"Come again?" Treize gave the young man a puzzled look.

Milliardo chuckled quietly. "A while back Wufei told me about reincarnation and stuff. He said that perhaps the reason why I'm connected to Alexander and why I also seem to be able to tap into Octavian's memories is because his soul was reborn in me. At the same time he also explained that souls in general will surround themselves with other souls they have knows from a prior life. From what I learned Constance seems very much like my friend Noin," he explained.

"The young woman you took to your sister's debutant ball?"

The blond nodded. "We grew up together. She was my best friend, the person I feel like I can talk to about everything; very much like Constance and Octavian. "

"Would you marry her to please your parents?" Treize asked.

"Hmm… I'm not sure if I would go that far, but if I **had** to marry a woman; Noin would probably be my first choice."

"Really?! Does she know about us?"

"Of course. Like I said, I tell her everything."

Treize gave the other man a long look. "Everything?" he asked.

Luckily at that very moment the door bell rang, saving Milliardo from having to answer that question. "Oh, that must be old man Harold."

###

"Yes, this definitely brings back memories." The old man looked around as he stepped into the house he hadn't set foot into for nearly a century, and a soft smile formed on his lips. "The look may have changed, but it still feels the same. You know, I almost expect him to come walking down these stairs, dressed in one of his elegant afternoon suits, a fresh rose in his coat's lapel and his walking stick in hand."

Treize laughed quietly. "I can almost see it myself."

"He took his cane upstairs?" Milliardo asked, slightly surprised. Somehow he had always assumed people had left them in the entry with their shoes and umbrellas.

"Yes," Mr. Harold confirmed. "Master Alexander used to walk with the slightest of limps, barely noticeable really, from a childhood injury I believe."

"That's right. I have heard that he had a riding accident in his early teens where he broke his hip." The professor nodded.

"Climbing the stairs seemed to trouble him somewhat," the old man continued. "So he used the cane to steady himself. He would leave it right up at the top landing, propped against that old big clock that was standing in the upstairs hall. I think that was the only reason why he kept that clock. He never really liked it; it was too noise he said."

"Shall we go into the living room?" Treize suggested.

"I think that walking stick is still up in the attic," Milliardo remarked as he followed the two of them. He had already turned on the coffee maker. "It's made of some dark wood with a silver handle and a couple of silver bands holding it in place."

"No actually," the old man shook his head. "Master Alexander's cane was dark ebony wood with a lion's head on top carved out of ivory, that had two red eyes; rubies I believe he said they were. From what he told me it was a present from some rich Indian nobleman whose daughter was escorted by Master Alexander's ship as she traveled to America. But I'm not sure if that story is true or just something he made up for my entertainment. He often told the most amazing stories about his journeys."

"It sounds like he really liked you." Milliardo remarked as they settled down in the couch and armchairs around the little coffee table.

Treize on the other hand had grown rather quiet, his expression thoughtful. "Say Mister Harold, that walking stick you described. The lion's muzzle was open, it's fangs exposed as so he was growling at something."

"Yes, yes that's right. That and those red eyes that seemed to glow, it was kind of scary looking to me as a little boy, if you know what I mean."

"That's the cane from the catalogue." The professor gave Milliardo a look as though the young man was supposed to know what he was talking about.

"What catalogue?"

"The art catalogue, remember? About two weeks ago when I told you I was still trying to find a birthday present for my mother, something like a painting or so. The next day you left the catalogue on the table for me."

"…Ah, yes, **now** I remember. I think the coffee is done. Could you give me a hand please? If you would excuse us for just a moment, Mister Harold." Milliardo grabbed the sleeve of Treize's shirt, nearly dragging him out of the room and out of the old man's earshot. "I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about," he finally admitted.

"You mean you didn't leave that catalogue on the table? It was opened to the page with the lion- headed cane. I thought you were trying to be funny. Well, if **you** didn't do it…"

"Alexander?! But where did he get the catalogue to begin with."

"It probably came in the mail. I had called a couple of auction houses and asked them to send me theirs."

"He is trying to tell us something, isn't he?"

"Perhaps, but let's worry about that later. Right now we have a guest waiting for us." Treize reminded him.

"Ah, right. Take the cookies. I'll be right there with the coffee."

#

"Even these cookies bring back old memories. Only back then I had far less trouble eating them," the old man laughed as he dunked another one of the little round spheres into his coffee cup.

"I'm glad you like them. Alexander said they were your favorite..." The moment the words had escaped his mouth Milliardo realized what he had said and he grinned sheepishly. "I found his old cookbook and he had put a note next to the recipe: 'William's favorites'. I assume that he was referring to you." The young man lied and it seemed to make sense to their guest.

"Yes, I remember Mary-Anne baking them on special occasions for him… and me."

"Say, Mister Harold…" Treize changed the subject. "I realize it's been a long time, but you wouldn't happen to know why Alexander fired his butler, would you."

"Not officially of course. But from what I've gathered Mister Elward might have taken a few liberties Master Alexander didn't appreciate."

"Like what?"

"I think he might have invited friends into the house when the duke was at sea. My mother would usually clean the entire house the day after Master Alexander left. But Elward would ask her to come in again the day before he returned. I think he might also have helping himself to content of the liquor cabinet. At least that's what they were arguing about that day after the duke returned unexpectedly."

"I see," Treize nodded. "Well, that would be a good reason for me to fire an employee. I can only imagine Elward wasn't too happy."

"Probably not. It was a great job, considering how little time Master Alexander actually spent at home. But then, he said he had planned on leaving anyway. His brother had just recently died and his sister in law needed help with the family farm. Somehow I have a hard time imagining him as a farmer, though. You are still trying to find out how Master Alexander died, don't you? I wish I could help you more."

"But you already have helped a lot," the professor assured the old man. "Thank you so much. Your insight painted a whole new picture of my great grandfather and the life he lived."

"My pleasure."

###

"I still don't understand what Alexander's cane would be doing in an auction." Milliardo mused as he and the professor drove home. The two of them had dropped off the old man at his house and gone out for dinner afterwards.

"If it indeed is his." Treize remarked with a quick side gaze at the younger man.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's assume Alexander's story about escorting that Indian princess across the ocean is true, I can imagine that her grateful father would not only have presented him with a gift, but probably all high ranking officers or at least the Captain as well."

"Yeah I guess that makes sense." Milliardo nodded as they pulled up in front of their house. "I wonder who was selling it. Do you remember where what happened to that catalogue?"

"It probably was thrown out and into recycling. I called the auction house earlier and asked them to send us another copy. I also asked for the name of the person who owned that cane, but they don't give out personal information. Even in the catalogue each seller only is referred to by a number."

"Interesting."

As Treize climbed out of the car he noticed the flickering lights in the window to the living room and sighed. "Is he watching that mystery show thing again?"

"Probably. It's Tuesday, after 8 o'clock."

"I really was hoping to just sit and relax tonight. Why doesn't he just watch it upstairs in the attic, after all he does have his own TV now."

"But the Mystery Theater shows only on cable, he doesn't get the channel in the attic." Milliardo explained. "Maybe we can just watch it together. It's only an hour. We could play some poker afterward."

"Absolutely not." Treize shook his head.

The younger man laughed. "You still think he was cheating last night? Or are you just mad because you kept losing to your great-grandfather… your dead great-grandfather not to mention," he teased.

"Let's just say, if he wanted to take a look at our hands he could do so without us ever knowing."

"Alright, then let's play Yahtzee instead." Milliardo suggested.

"Fine. I have no problem with that."

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note:


	25. Chapter 25

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 25**

"Good morning!" a soft voice whispered into his ear and Milliardo smiled. He could feel Treize's warm body pressing against his back.

"You are awake already?" He yawned as he turned around to face his lover.

"Just woke up myself. When do you have to get up?"

"Not until 7:30."

"Good." Treize smiled as he pulled the young man closer into his embrace. Milliardo snuggled against his chest with his head tugged under his lover's chin with a content sigh.

"You know I'm definitely going to miss this while you are gone this weekend."

"But it's only for a few days. Today and tomorrow, and Saturday…and by Sunday I will be back already."

"This really isn't fair, you know." Milliardo complained. "How come do you as a teacher have time off already while we are still sweating over our finals?"

"Not history finals," the older man pointed out. "But I promise I'll make it up to you when I get back." He gently kissed the top of the blonde's head.

"Hmm…" Milliardo lifted his head to look up to him, a slight smirk on his face. "How about making it up to me right now?"

Treize raised one eyebrow in a gesture of caution and surprise. "Do I dare ask what you have in mind?"

###

"Alexander! Alexander, where are my car keys?" With an edge of annoyance in his voice, Treize looked around the room and in the direction where he could sense their ghostly housemate. "I know I put them on the table in the hall, and now they are gone."

Alexander had been pretty good about not playing tricks on his great-grandson lately, but he had picked the wrong time to start again. Treize was already running late and in no mood for games. His bag was standing by the door and he had been about to leave for the airport when he discovered the missing keys. Milliardo had left for school a few hours ago in his own car, so he couldn't count on him to drive him either.

"If I miss my flight because of you, I swear I'm going to call an exorcist."

The tawny haired man felt a rush of cool air past his head and then the morning paper that had been sitting on the shoe cabinet in the hall, flattered in all directions.

"Oh, you think I'm joking? Just try me," he warned.

Once again he could feel the ghost move past him, this time back into the living room, and moments later the leather dice cup on the coffee room table moved. It rose slightly into the air were it hovered momentarily before it turned over and the dice dropped onto the table below.

Treize sighed. "You want to play with me? Now is not a good time, you know. I have a plane to catch."

Stubbornly Alexander rolled the dice again.

"Alright," the professor finally agreed. "Here is the deal. Let's roll the dice. If I win you'll give me back my keys, understood?" He reached for the dice cup and started shaking it. "Two dice, highest numbers win," he announced before dropping the dice onto the table. It didn't seem to matter what he rolled for some reason Alexander always had a point more. After the tenth try or so Treize snorted in frustration. But something, was it pride or foolishness, stopped him from just walking away from the game, picking up the phone and calling a taxi. A good fifteen minutes or so had passed by the time he finally rolled two sixes.

"Hah!" He gave his ghostly ancestor a triumphant gaze. "Try to beat that."

###

"Hey Peacecraft?!"

Milliardo held his step and turned his head. A couple of guys from his biology class had left the science building shortly after him. "What's up?"

"They are having a party tonight at 'Pete's'. You gonna come?"

The young man shook his head. "Thanks, but I still have another test tomorrow. I'd rather not show up drunk or hung over."

"Man, that's too bad. Zeuss is supposed to be playing. Just come for the music."

"Yeah maybe," Milliardo replied tentatively. _Or I could also stand right next to a canon when it goes off and blow out my eardrums that way. _"Got to go. Catch you guys later."

The young man made it about half way across campus to the senior parking lot before someone was calling out to him again. This time it was his sister who was running after him. He stopped to let her catch up.

"Hey, what's the hurry?"

"Milliardo…" she had to stop to catch her breath. "I just was at the teacher lounge to drop of some books and I heard…Professor Khushrenada was flying to Norwick today, wasn't he… it's on the news… everyone is talking about it…"

Her brother frowned. "What are you talking about, Relena? You are making no sense whatsoever. Why would Treize flying home to visit his mother be on the news?"

"No, I'm talking about the accident."

Milliardo felt like someone just sucker punched him in the stomach. "What accident, Relena?"

"About an hour or so ago, at Norwick regional airport; a plane coming in for landing overshot the runway and crashed into some storage building. There was a fire, a lot of injuries and a few fatalities too. The plane came supposedly from Watsonville."

Watsonville was the local airport just outside of town. Milliardo swallowed. "The flight number, Relena, do you know what the flight number was?" He had to fight the urge to grab his sister by the shoulder and shake her.

"I don't know. But there was a number for people to call if they thought they had relatives on that flight." She handed him a piece of paper with some hastily scribbled numbers.

Her brother had already pulled out his cell phone, dialing Treize's number first. The phone rang several times before switching over to voice mail. "Treize, its Milliardo. I need to talk to you. When you get this message call me at once."

He hung up only to dial the number Relena had handed him right thereafter. After following a few instructions he was finally connected to a live operator. "I believe my brother might have been on that flight," he told the woman. "His name is Khushrenada. K…h…u…s…h…r…e…n…a…d…a, first name Treize."

Relena watched her brother with bated breath.

"Yes, thank you." Milliardo closed the phone with shaking hands. His face had grown pale. "His name was on the passenger list; he was flying first class. But that's all she could tell me for now."

"Oh Milliardo!" His sister reached out to hug him and he put his arms around her as well. "I hope he is alright."

###

For what was probably the longest hour of his life, Milliardo sat at Duo and Wufei's dorm room watching the news and waiting for someone from the airline to call him back. Wufei had left for work shortly after he arrived, but Duo stayed with the young man.

"Can I get you something to eat or drink; a beer or maybe some coffee?" the braided youth asked. "I can go to the coffee shop and pick some up, you know."

"I'm fine, thanks." The blonde shook his head. He wasn't sure if he would be able to keep anything down right now.

The reporter on the news channel just announced that the death toll had climbed to ten, including both the pilot and co-pilot, and at least two dozen severally injured passengers had been taken to local emergency room.

Milliardo felt his stomach clench at the sight of the broken and burned out airplane pieces. Suddenly he could image how Octavian must have felt when he learned of Alexander's dead. Was this it, he wondered. Was history repeating itself? _Please be alright, Treize. I don't want to lose you._

"He will be okay, Milliardo. Just wait and see." Duo seemed to be reading his mind.

"Thanks." The young man tried to put on a brave smile, but it probably turned more into a lopsided grimace. "I really hope so. Treize was flying first class. Looking at that plane now; it doesn't have a first class section anymore. Hard to imagine that anyone…"

"Hey!" his friend interrupted him. "Trust me on this one. Treize is going to be alright. He has been in the military, has probably seen more action than you and me can imagine. If anyone would be able to walk away from this, it's him."

"Maybe you are right." Milliardo sighed and stared at his phone on the table, and suddenly as if by power of mind it started to ring. The young man hesitated, letting it ring a second and third time. He had been waiting for this call for the past two hours but now he wasn't sure if he was better off not knowing.

"Do you want me to get it?" Duo offered.

"No, I got it." Taking a deep breath Milliardo finally picked up and phone and opened it. "Hello?"

"Milliardo."

"Treize?!" the young man nearly jumped to his feet at the sound of his lover's voice. "Treize, are you alright?"

"Um…yes. But that was going to be my question. What's going on? I just landed and when I checked my phone I found your messages." - Milliardo had left at least four of them.

"You just landed?" the young man echoed in surprise. It seemed like Treize was completely unaware of the plane crash. "Where exactly are you?"

"In Oaks Dale, at the airport."

"What are you doing in Oaks Dale? I thought you were flying to Norwick?"

On the other end of the line Treize snorted. "So did I, but thanks to Alexander, our not so friendly ghost, hiding my car keys again I missed my flight and had to rebook. The only way for me to make it to my mother's house in time for her dinner party tonight was to take a plane to Oaks Dale and then a connection. Not exactly the way I had planned in spending my day. And now it looks like my flight to Norwick has been canceled. I need to figure out what's going on."

"You don't know then?"

"Know what? I told you we just landed. What's going on, Milliardo?"

"The plane you were supposed to be on was in an accident." The young man quickly filled the professor in on what had happened.

"Oh my god." He could hear Treize draw a sharp breath. "Alexander…If not for…"

"Could he possibly have known?"

"I…I don't know. Listen Milliardo, I have another call incoming. It's my mother."

"Okay. Talk your family; let them know you are alright. I'll talk to you later."

"I'll call you when I get to my mother's house. Take care."

"You too. And Treize… I love you!"

He could almost see Treize smile and he replied. "I love you too."

Milliardo closed his phone and turned his head toward Duo who was giving him a grin and a 'Told you so!' look.

"I think now I'll have that beer you offered me earlier."

###

Milliardo was curled up in a warm blanket watching TV when the phone on the little table next to the couch rang.

"Alexander, could you get that for me please?" he asked.

Not only did the ghost pick up the receiver and hand it to him, he also stopped the movie they were watching so that the young man wouldn't miss anything.

"Thank you." Milliardo nodded in his direction as he accepted the phone. "Hello?!"

"Did I wake you, Dear?" Treize's voice came from the other end of the line. They two of them had talked a couple of times since the professor left, and each time when he heard that voice Milliardo couldn't help but remember how close he had come to losing him.

"No, we are just watching a movie."

"We?"

"Just Alexander and I." the young man grinned. "No, I'm not holding any wild parties while you're away. How was your day?"

"Quite pleasant actually; we went to an art show and then I took Mother to a new restaurant for dinner. It's how we usually spent her birthday."

"That **does** sound like fun." Milliardo thought he sounded sincere, but he could hear the other man chuckle.

"Just not **your** idea of fun, am I right?"

"I respectfully decline to answer that for reasons of self-incrimination," the blonde grinned.

On the other end of the line Treize gave another laugh. "Very well. But I assume you can answer this question. How did your last final go yesterday?"

"I did alright, I think."

"Good. It would be terrible if you failed." The other man replied with a hint of humor in his voice. "Because tomorrow morning Mother and I are going to pick up the graduation gift I chose for you a few weeks ago; and I don't think it can be returned."

"Oh? A present; what is it? Can you tell me?"

"Sorry, no can do. It's a surprise."

"Not even a hint?"

"Not even a hint." Treize confirmed. "You will just have to wait till tomorrow evening when I get home."

"Speaking of which… I'm working tomorrow," Milliardo told him.

"Working, on a Sunday night?"

"Yes Mother, I know it's a school night." The blond replied cheekily. "But guess what; I don't **have** school anymore."

"Very well," the older man gave a theatrical sigh. "I'll just come home from my long trip to an empty house."

"But it's not really empty, is it?"

Treize chuckled. "Alright then, I will not keep you two any longer from watching your movie. Tell Alexander I'll be bringing something for him too. I went through some of the old family stuff yesterday and found some paintings I think he might like to put up in the attic. Oh, this reminds me… I was talking to our family lawyer a few days ago about the walking cane in the auction catalogue and he said he would try to find out where it came from. Apparently he found something because he called and left a message earlier today. I'll go and see him tomorrow before flying home."

"That's great. Did he mention what he found out?"

"No, nothing specific. But it's too late to call him now; we'll just have to wait and see tomorrow."

"Alright, I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, and I'll miss you tonight."

"I miss you too, Milliardo. See you tomorrow."

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note: A few people asked about Duo and Heero's relationship. I'm afraid that won't make it in this story anymore. However, there is always a possibility that I'll write a sequel.


	26. Chapter 26

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 26  
**

"Thanks Pete. See you next weekend." Handing the driver a tip, Milliardo climbed out of the taxi and headed up the three little steps to the front door. Behind him, the car waited until he had pulled out his key and unlocked the door before driving off.

"I'm home." The young man would have been lying if he said that he wasn't a little disappointed that Treize hadn't come by the club to pick him up. But then again, he reminded himself, the other man was probably exhausted after his quite eventful weekend.

"Welcome home!"

The wide smile on his lover's face, as he stepped out of the living room to greet him, melted any remaining trace of disappointment quickly.

"I missed you so," he whispered as the two men embraced.

"I missed you more," Treize insisted before dipping his head for a drawn out, passionate kiss.

"When did you get home?" Milliardo asked once their lips finally parted.

"About two hours ago." The older man reached for his hand, pulling him along as he headed back into the living room. "Come on, I have something to show you."

"Oh?!" Curiously Milliardo followed. Sitting in the middle of the room was a box about the size of a mid-level skyscraper; its top decorated with a big golden bow. "For me?" he asked.

"Your graduation present," Treize told him.

"Do I have to wait until I actually graduate before I can open it?"

"No, I don't think that would be a good idea. In fact, you should open it right now."

That wasn't something Milliardo needed to be told twice. But after taking only two steps toward the large box he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

"What's wrong?"

"It moved!" He knew it sounded ridiculous but he could have sworn that the container was shaking just a second ago. "Alexander?!" No, he could feel his presence to his left near the fireplace.

"Just open it," Treize laughed. "I swear I didn't bring another ghost into the house."

Milliardo grinned. "That's a relief." He finally got down on his knees next to the box and pulled off the large bow. The lid was sitting loosely on top and as reached for it he felt something push against it from the inside. His jaw nearly dropped as a fluffy white head popped out of the box; a pair of blue eyes looking back at him from above a wet, black nose.

"It's… a…" Completely taken by surprise the young man seemed at a total loss of words.

"A dog?" Treize offered helpfully, his voice lazed with amusement.

"Actually, I was going to say puppy." Milliardo smirked at him as he picked up the little ball of fur and rose to his feet. "Oh my gosh, it's is the cutest little thing. What's its name?"

"He doesn't have one yet. Since he is yours it's only fair that you should name him."

The young man laughed as his face was being covered with wet puppy kisses. "What made you think of getting me a puppy, Treize?"

"**You** did," the older man replied. "I know you like dogs, you said that every house should have one, and you mentioned more than a few times how beautiful you thought Peritas was."

"Ah, so you **do** listen to my ramblings."

"Occasionally," Treize teased.

"He looks just like Peritas, too." Milliardo settled down in one of the leather chairs, the little dog still in his arms. "Are they related?"

"Hmm…If you trace back his pedigree far enough I'm sure you will find common ancestors."

"Where did you find him?"

"My family has been keeping Borzoi for generations," his lover reminded him. "Mother knows several breeders. I had them sent me videos of their litters and picked the one I thought you might like best, in looks and personality. So, what about a name; any ideas yet?" Treize squatted down in front of the chair and run his fingers through the puppy's white hair. It was soft and fluffy bit still relatively short, for a Borzoi doesn't develop its beautiful, wavy coat until later.

"Hmm… How about Cabal?"

"Cabal?" The older man echoed. "As in King Arthur's dog? I love it."

"Thanks. And I don't mean only for agreeing with me on the name. Come here!" Leaning in Milliardo captured his lover's lips in a deep and passionate kiss. "This is the best graduation present you could have given me."

"My pleasure."

"You must be tired; it's been a long day for you, hasn't it?"

"Actually I slept through most of the flight," Treize replied. "What about you? Have you gotten more sleep now that your finals are over with?"

"I have, and I did take a long nap before I went to work this afternoon as well. So, I'm not really tired either, but I wouldn't mind eating something."

"Me neither; the food on the flight was terrible. Let's have a little late night snack then, shall we?"

Milliardo laughed as he checked his watch. It was shortly after three o'clock. "More like a little early morning snack. You know, Pepe's is now delivering till 8 am."

"Really?" the older man asked. 'Pepe's' was a small restaurant in the campus area, catering mostly to the college crowd. They were closed most of the day but stayed open until nine in the morning to serve breakfast to those whose who just got up for early classes as well as those who were only getting home from a late night out. "A nice southern omelet does sound great right now."

"Agreed. I think I'll jump in the shower while we wait…" Milliardo sniffed the collar of his white dress shirt and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "…and change into something that doesn't reek of booze and cold smoke." He slowly rose to his feet, careful not to wake the white bundle of fur that had fallen asleep in his lap.

The older man huffed in amusement. "You don't have to carry him around 24/7, you know."

"You just saying that because you want me to leave him with you," his lover accused playfully as he headed upstairs. On the first landing he momentarily held his step. "Oh, by the way, have you checked your mail yet? I put the pile on the counter in the kitchen."

"No, not yet; anything interesting?"

"I think there is a letter from that friend of yours who works in forensics."

"Oh really?" Treize raised one eyebrow in surprise. "That was faster than expected. I wonder that's a good thing or a bad. But then again, if he didn't find anything he'd probably just called to let me know."

"Yeah, that's make sense. Well, let me know what it says when I get back."

"You didn't read it yet?"

"Of course not." Milliardo sounded almost offended by that suggestion. "The letter was addressed to you."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize. I told him to send it to both of us."

#

As his lover went upstairs Treize walked into the kitchen to get the number for 'Pete's' from the list on the fridge. He called the restaurant to order two omelets and a fruit salad. By the time the tawny haired man hung up he could hear the shower running in the master bathroom.

Taking a quick look at the pile of post that had collected during the few days while he was gone, he sorted out several pieces of junk mail and tossed them into the trash without even opening, before he finally got to the letter Milliardo had been talking about. It was a large yellow envelope, stamped with the golden seal of the department it had been sent from.

Curiously as he was Treize didn't open the letter right away. Instead he poured himself a glass of red wine before settling down in the living room. As he finally opened the envelope he found two pieces of paper in it. The first was a typed note on a white sheet with an official letter head. Treize took a sip from his wine, draped one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair as he unfolded it. His eyes flew over the writing, and one of his eyebrows jumped up in a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Quickly he pulled out the other piece of paper.

The second letter looked very different, almost like a very bad Xerox copy and even the paper itself felt strange under his fingertips. The script was faded and almost illegible in some spots, but from what he could tell it was most definitely Alexander's handwriting. The letter was dated the day he died and addressed to Octavian.

About half way through Treize could hear Milliardo's footsteps on the stairs, but he didn't actually raise his head until his lover's shadow fell over him.

"Anything interesting?" Milliardo was wearing a pair of jeans and a black shirt left unbuttoned. His towel damp hair smelled of sandalwood and freshness. The puppy was curled up and still asleep in his arms.

"Well, as you probably suspected, they weren't able to do much with the cufflink. But they found something rather interesting. I think you should read it yourself." The older man suggested as he handed him the piece of paper. "Apparently, the letter to the fleet admiral was not the only one Alexander wrote that night before he died. This one he must have written first."

His eyebrows narrowed into a surprised frown as Milliardo settled down on the carpet. "Where did they find it?"

"They didn't," Treize explained. "Alexander must have taken both pieces of paper from his desk when he sat down to write those letters. As he wrote the first note it left impressions on the sheet beneath, the one he later used to write to the fleet admiral. The forensic laboratory was able to recreate the missing letter from those impressions. Don't ask me how they did it exactly, though."

"That's amazing." Milliardo eyed the letter with slight hesitation; part of him unsure if he really wanted to know what Alexander wrote that night. But in the end curiosity took over.

**_My Dearest Octavian, _**he read

**_It's said that there is no greater fool but the fool who fools himself. If that is true, and I believe it is, I suppose that would make me king of fools.  
I was trying so desperately to believe that nothing would change between us, even after you were married, and that you would always be mine. But seeing you in church today; side by side with your lovely bride I knew that I had lost you already. The two of you looked beautiful together, beautiful and in love. And thus, I knew I have no choice but to take my leave, while I still can with my pride intact._**

**_By the time you will receive this letter I will have left town and I would like to ask of you, please do not try to find me. I have decided to take your advice and accept promotion and my own ship. My only hope is that you will forgive me for taking this cowardly way out instead of facing you in person to say my good-byes. Please, do not get this wrong. I still love you more than anything, and I always will. But I believe this is for the best and I hope that sooner or later you will realize it too._**

**_Since I have no plans and desires to ever return to this town, I also have no need for this house any more. The thought of selling it and having someone else live in this place where I shared so many beautiful memories with you, however, is something I cannot bear. And thus, after leaving your party this evening I went to see my lawyer and sign the house over into your and your bride's name. Think of it as a slightly belated wedding gift, if you wish. I hope that the two of you will be as happy here as I have been , and decide to raise your family here. If nothing else, this way at least I will know where to find you, should I someday down the road ever muster the courage of visiting you._**

**_For now I wish you all the best and hope that you will continue to think of me with fondness._**

**_Lovingly yours,_**

**_Alexander_**

Milliardo swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to fight against the tears threatening to well up in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" His lover's voice was soft and tender.

He somehow managed a wry grin and an almost embarrassed snort. "I'm such an idiot, aren't I? Getting emotional about a letter written a hundred years ago…"

"Perhaps you are," Treize replied, a soft smile on his lips. "But it's one of the things I love about you. So, what do you think?"

"I'm more than just a little surprised." Milliardo admitted. "I would have never guessed that Alexander stepped aside so easily and without any fight."

"Is that what you were afraid of; that he and Octavian had gotten in some kind of argument at the wedding and there last words spoken to one another were in anger?"

"In a way, yes."

"Well, I suppose than this letter should make you feel better. As you can see, Octavian didn't even know Alexander was leaving him, and therefore had no reason to fight with him or even kill him." _Now his father on the other hand… Perhaps Alexander sent the letter by messenger – it would certainly explain why it wasn't found by the police. He didn't want Octavian to receive the letter until the next day it seems, but maybe was delivered too early by mistake? If for any reason the elder Peacecraft got his hands on this letter and found out about his son's relationship with Alexander through it, he might have been angry enough to confront the duke about that. Could it be? And of course, there was the old lady across the street who claimed she saw the Peacecraft's carriage earlier in front of the duke's house_. For a long moment Treize mused silently, unsure if he should share his theory with Milliardo or not.

"It's a pity that Octavian never had a chance to say good-bye to Alexander," he finally spoke.

"Maybe he did."

Treize gave his lover a questioning look. "You still believe Octavian was at the house that night?"

"I know he was."

He older man's brows furrowed slightly. "You had any new dreams?" It was a statement more than a question.

"I'm not sure if you can consider them dreams really." Milliardo admitted. "They are short flashbacks really… very short… and very hazy. I believe it was Octavian who found Alexander, still clinging to life.

"Hmm…" Treize's eyebrows narrowed even further. "I suppose it makes sense, in a way."

"What does?"

"Your flashbacks. We have always assumed that those dreams you are having are brought on by some sort of connection with Alexander, right?"

"Right."

"Keep in mind that Alexander was dying. He had a head wound and might have been drifted in and out of consciousness…"

Milliardo swallowed. As disturbing as the idea was, Treize was right; it did make sense.

"You sure you are alright?" the older man asked, his voice underlined with concern. "Perhaps we should talk about something else."

"I'm fine. It's just… Coming so close to losing you, I think I understand much better how Octavian must have felt."

"Hey," Treize smirked in an attempt to cheer up the blond. "There is no way I'd lose me that easily. Like it or not, you'll be stuck with me for a very long time. I'm indestructible, you know."

The younger man laughed. "Is that supposed to put me at ease or scare me?"

The sound of the door bell interrupted their playful squabble, and Milliardo was on his feet in a heartbeat. "I hope that's breakfast. I'm starving."

_________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note: Well, this took long enough. For some reason the muses were giving me a very difficult time with this chapter. And in the end it was becoming much longer than expected. So I decided to split it and create a chapter 27. Hopefully I'll be able to finish that one a little faster.


	27. Chapter 27

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Part 27  
**

"I'm home," Treize announced as he slipped off his shoes in the hall. He had been at school most of the day and was looking forward to spending the evening with Milliardo.

Frowning slightly when he didn't get a reply, he headed toward the living room but held his steps as he walked past the kitchen. There was the younger man, on the floor, on all fours with his head facing the newly installed doggy door and his jeans-clad rear end up in the air. It was a sight to behold, and for a minute or two Treize did just that. Then he cleared his throat. "Do I want to know what you are doing?"

Milliardo nearly jumped. "Treize, gosh, you scared me. Don't sneak up on people like that."

"My apologies, but I did say 'hello' when I walked into the house. So, what **are** you doing?"

"I'm trying to teach Cabal to use the doggy door on his own." The young man sighed as he rose to his feet and brushed some dust off his pants. "He only will go in and out when I hold the flap open for him." To make his point he lifted the flexible cover. And sure enough, the puppy who had been waiting outside, came flying through the opening like a bolt of white lightening and dashed straight toward Treize to greet him.

"Give it some time and he will learn," the professor assured Milliardo. "It's been only three days."

"Yeah, you're probably right. So, how was your day?"

"Pretty much like always. I'm looking forward to summer break." The older man admitted. "And what have you two been doing today?"

"We went to pick up that doggy bed we ordered and afterward I took him to the park. You know, it's really true what they say; puppies are total chick magnets."

Treize gave an amused huff. "Milliardo, have you looked into a mirror lately? You **do not** need a puppy to attract women… or men for that matter."

The blond snorted. "That's kind of funny coming from the guy all female students and staff members at Marymount drool over Oh, I just remember... There was a massage on the machine when we got home. It's from your family's lawyer, I believe. Did he get in touch with you?"

"No, I usually turn my phone off during classes. I'll call him back right now. Thanks."

"Do you think he is calling because he has news about that auction?" Milliardo wondered. Treize had told him about the reason why his lawyer had asked to see him last Sunday. Apparently, after some researching the man had found out that the party selling the cane that looked like Alexander's, had several other items listed in the same auction. Among them were some paintings and silverware that seemed to have belonged to the Khushrenada family at one point or the other, but he needed a family member to confirm that. It seemed like a big step forward, but unfortunately the auction house was less than willing to reveal any personal information about their sellers.

"I really hope so." Treize replied. "While I go get changed and make that call, why don't you decide on where we should go for dinner tonight?"

"Sounds like an idea."

###

By the time Treize returned, Milliardo was sitting on the carpet in the living room, playing tug-of-war with Cabal.

"So, what did he say?" Looking up at the professor, the young man released the little toy rope, and the puppy dashed away with his treasure.

"He was able to get the name of the seller."

"Really?" Milliardo was surprised. "I thought the auction house was so adamant about not releasing any personal information."

"Well, the suggestion of being investigated or possibly sued for the sale of stolen property made them re-think their 'principles' rather quickly, it appears."

"Are you going to tell me the name or do I have to beg?"

"Tempting." Treize smirked a little but decided to take pity. "The cane, as well as several paintings and silverware that used to belong to my family's, were part of a big lot coming from the estate sale of a Mister Matthew Peterson."

"Peterson…Peterson…," Milliardo frowned. "That name means nothing to me. Could it be that maybe Octavian sold or gave away those items; or maybe one of his children or grandchildren some time down the road? I assume that when Alexander had put the house into his name, it also included everything in it. Or maybe…, that letter you told me about, the one Octavian sent to Julian to inform him of his brother's death… You said he was talking about Alexander's personal belongings he was going to send back to his family. Maybe Julian did not want to keep those."

"I suppose either would be possible. In fact I was thinking the same for a while. But that name, Peterson, I believe I've read or heard it before."

"Well, it's not exactly an uncommon name. I'm sure you have heard it more than just once."

"No," Treize shook his head. "I mean in connection with this… case. If I remember right sheriff Bonaparte might have mentioned it in one of the conversations I had with him."

"Really?"

"Yes. Say, how do you feel about taking a little detour to the sheriff's office on our way to dinner?"

"Sounds good to me," the younger man agreed. "When will we leave?"

"How fast can you be ready?"

"Give me five minutes to freshen up and put on my shoes. Will you put Cabal in his pen?"

"Sure," Treize nodded. The doggy pen was set up in a corner in the kitchen. It gave Cabal and little safe area to play and sleep in while he was alone. The tawny haired man had to chase down the puppy who seemed to think they were playing catch. He was fast, and still small enough to dip beneath the coffee table and dash between the dining chairs without slowing down. Eventually Treize used his favorite toy to bait and catch him.

"Alexander!" he called upstairs as he carried Cabal into the kitchen. "Milliardo and I are leaving. Will you keep an eye on the puppy while we are gone? Thanks."

###

"Peterson you say…" Sheriff Bonaparte nodded. "Yes, that name does ring a bell. I mentioned it when I was talking to you about my grandfather's personal file on the case. He kept it updated far beyond the official investigation."

"That's right," Treize confirmed. He now remembered the conversation very well.

"According to that file," the sheriff continued. "Albert Elward's sister in law remarried not too long after her husband's death to a Morris Peterson. Matthew apparently was their son."

"The Butler…?!" Milliardo snorted in a mixture of surprise and disgust. "So he was stealing more than just a couple glasses of brandy from his employer. No wonder Alexander fired the man. But unfortunately that just leads to another dead end. Elward might have been a thief but he couldn't have been the murderer, right? After all, he was out of town and ill the night Alexander was killed."

"Do we really know that?" his lover pointed out.

"Well, we do know that he died only a short time later, so it might probably have been the truth." Bonaparte replied.

"Hmm… is there any way to find out what he died off?" Treize wanted to know.

"Oh yes, I just have to call up his death certificate, which I can do right here from my computer. Gotta love that new filing system the university created for us. Puts everything I need to know right here at my fingertips. Just give me a moment if you would." The sheriff worked on his laptop for no longer than a few minutes. Then he looked up and declared. "According to this he died from Septicaemia, that's sepsis, isn't it?"

"Yes, probably brought on by an untreated infection, an infection cause by… let's say a dog bite perhaps?"

Both Milliardo and the sheriff drew a sharp breath at Treize's almost casual statement.

"Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting." Bonaparte asked.

Treize almost smiled, but it was a smile underlined by sadness. "Yes, I think we finally found our murderer. It makes perfect sense now."

"So, my grandfather was on the right track after all."

"Indeed," the tawny-haired man confirmed. "Unfortunately, luck wasn't on his site. If Elward wouldn't have died so quickly and your grandfather would have had a chance to question him, I'm sure he would have figured out what happened that night."

"So, what exactly **did** happen?" Milliardo asked. He had a pretty good idea himself, but wanted to know if Treize had a different theory.

"Well, I think we would have to go back a little further than the night of the murder…," his lover replied. "I think Elward abused his position for a long time, probably from the day Alexander hired him. Little by little, at first maybe with the help of his brother, he would take pieces of art or silverware from the house. Elward probably figured that no one would ever notice a few missing pieces here and there. We know from Mister Howard that Alexander stored many of the paintings, especially old family pieces, up in the attic, while he liked to display more 'modern' paintings downstairs. And what little time he spent at home, I'm sure he did not waste on counting his silver spoons and candle sticks. However," Treize continued. "I don't think Alexander was as clueless as it seemed. It was probably one reason why he did not inform his butler that he was going to return ahead of time from his last journey. We will probably never know what the exact trigger was but he finally confronted Elward and fired him on the spot. He made him pack his things and leave the house that very day, which meant that Elward wasn't able to take with him the last few pieces he had already stacked away safely and securely…"

"The paintings we found hidden behind the wardrobe up in the attic," Milliardo assumed.

"Correct," the older man confirmed. "But of course he knew, that the duke was going to be out of the house the coming Saturday, attending Octavian's wedding. That, he figured, was going to be his chance. So after spending a couple of days at his late brother's farm, Elward came back into town that night. I'm sure he was smart enough to park his carriage nearby but not directly in from of the house. He might have had made himself a spare key; he did have ample opportunity to do so, and he knew that Peritas would be locked away in the kitchen while the duke was not home. So he probably entered the house casually through the front door, expecting that he would be in and out in no time at all…"

"That's why the police didn't find any signs of a break in when they arrived." Bonaparte remarked. "That makes sense."

"It does. Unfortunately things did not go as planned. What the former butler didn't realize is that the duke had already returned home and was sitting upstairs in his study writing and sipping brandy. He had already finished one letter and was now working on a second one, that was going to be send to the fleet admiral, when Elward entered the house. Perhaps Alexander heard a noise, perhaps it was the dog who alerted him… it's impossible to know. But as he got up and went to check, he discovered the intruder coming up the stairs. The two probably had a verbal confrontation. I can imagine Alexander threatened to call the police. Elward couldn't let that happen I assume. So he reached for the first best weapon he could find - the duke's cane, leaning against the clock in the hall like it always did- and went on the attack. Any other day Alexander probably would have fought him off with ease. But we know that he had been drinking. Aside from the brandy he was comforting himself with that evening; it is fair to assume he had already a few drinks at the wedding party. I wouldn't say that he was drunk, his handwriting was too clean for that, but I think he had just enough alcohol in his blood to slow him down. Elward probably only hit him once; the cane was heavy and a deadly weapon. Seeing his master being attacked Peritas must have jumped in to defend him. He bit the intruder at least once, causing him to flee and take the cane along to defend himself from the pursuing dog. He ran through the hall to the back door and escaped through the gardens with Peritas hard on his heels."

"So that's where the blood in the hall and on the back door came from," the sheriff mused. He had been listening quietly and intrigued to the story.

"Yes, and it also explains how the dog got into the garden. Once the door closed behind them he found himself locked out of course. Elward probably jumped the wall and fled to wherever his ride was waiting."

"But why the back door?" Bonaparte looked questioningly at Treize. "Why didn't he just leave the way he came in, through the front entrance? We know that door was still open."

"Maybe he was afraid someone had heard the noises. He obviously didn't want to be seen."

"Or maybe…" Milliardo added, "He didn't use the front door because a carriage was pulling at that very moment; the carriage seen by the old lady across the street when she looked out of her window minutes later."

"Good point," Treize nodded.

"So, you think she didn't get confused about the time, after all?" The sheriff frowned slightly. But of course there was something Treize and Milliardo knew that he didn't know, yet.

"No, I think she wasn't confused at all," the professor confirmed. "However, it wasn't the elder Peacecraft who arrived at that time, but his son, Octavian. It's difficult to tell why he came to see Alexander that night, but finding the front door open, just like his father, he entered the house, probably calling his friend's name. He discovered the blood and then the mortally wounded duke upstairs in the hall. He stayed with him and held him while he was dying. It is safe to assume that it was his cufflink Alexander was clutching in his hand when the police arrived. If Octavian called his father for help, or if the elder Peacecraft had noticed his son leave and followed him to the duke's house, we will never know."

"What I don't understand is why Octavian didn't stay and waited for the doctor and the police to arrive." Milliardo wondered.

"I think his father made him leave."

"Why?"

Treize smiled softly. "To protect him, like any concerned father would have done under the circumstances. He might have been tough on Octavian, but I think he loved his son very much. Keep in mind that he was ill and didn't have more than a few months to live. Perhaps he realized that the police would look at the person who found the duke as a suspect, and it was better they suspected him than Octavian."

"And Elward just went back to his late brother's farm like nothing had happened," Sheriff Bonaparte added. "And he convinced his sister in law to lie to the police about his whereabouts that night."

"Not much good did it do him, though. Afraid to go to a doctor, he let his bite wounds become infected and the rest… well, is history you could say."

"Do you think his sister in law knew what he had done?" Milliardo wondered.

"Hard to say," his lover replied. "If she did know about his theft, though, Elward didn't tell her where he hid his loot, it seems. She went on to get married again, raised her son who eventually took over the family farm and lived out his life without ever touching any of the stuff his uncle had stolen. It wasn't until after Matthew died that the items were found and put up for auction by the estate lawyer hired by Matthew's children." Treize paused for a few moments. "There is no way proofing if our theory is 100% correct, but I'm quite certain that is what happened. My lawyer talked to the people from the auction house and learned that the cane came to them wrapped in an old piece of cloth or towel. An appraiser had a look at it and then it was put in one of their storage vaults. Even if Elward tried to clean the cane before wrapping it up I'm sure there should be enough DNA on it to proof that it was the murder weapon."

"I agree," Bonaparte nodded. "Forensics can do amazing things these days with the minutest traces of blood or tissue. I'll have the cane picked up for examination. And I'll make sure that the rest of the stolen items are returned to your family, Mister Khushrenada."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you. You don't know how much it means to me to be able to solve this case. And I surely could have never done it without your help."

###

"Treize…" Milliardo asked as the two men climbed back into their car in front of the sheriff's office. "Would it be okay to eat at home tonight?"

The older man looked at his lover in a mixture of surprise and concern. "Are you alright?"

"Yes…I think so; I just want to go home."

"That's fine, of course. No problem at all. There is pizza in the freezer or we can order in."

"Thanks." Milliardo slipped into the passenger seat, put on his seat belt and looked out of the window without another word. He didn't speak at all on the way home, and Treize didn't try to force a conversation on him. He figured that Milliardo would talk to him, when he was ready to do so.

As they pulled up in front of their house the professor's eyes caught the large yellow and white street sign reminding him that there was no parking on this side of the block on Wednesday mornings.

"Ah right, the street-sweeper comes tomorrow morning. I might as well move the car right now," he said as he let Milliardo out. "I'll catch up with you in a moment."

The younger man nodded. "See you."

Treize had to drive all the way down the block to a little parking lot near the communal park. People weren't supposed to park there over night, but did it anyway on Tuesday nights. It took him a good five minutes to walk back, and when he got home he found Milliardo sitting on the kitchen floor with the puppy.

"He is gone." The young man didn't even turn his head.

Treize didn't have to ask who he was talking about. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I called for him and checked everywhere. I can't feel his presence anymore. He left this on the table." Milliardo held out some kind of card to his lover, who recognized it as one of the Thank you notes the blond had ordered for his graduation party next weekend.

With a wry snort the younger man put cabal back into his pen and rose to his feed. "That's just like him, isn't it? He never was one for big good-byes."

"No, I suppose he wasn't." Treize agreed.

"It's silly I know. I knew this was going to happen eventually, but I was hoping we would have a little more time together. Damn, I'm going to miss him."

"So am I," his lover gave a tiny smile. "I can do without his practical jokes; yes, I'm going to miss him too."

"Right now I'm wishing we'd never solved this darn case."

"But that's what he wanted, Milliardo," Treize pointed out. "Otherwise he wouldn't have pushed us to find all those clues. I think we should look on the bright side. He finally will be reunited with those he loved."

"That's just what Wufei told me a while back." Milliardo managed smirk of his own. "Call me selfish; but I'd much rather have him stay here with us."

The older man laughed quietly as he reached out to pull him into his arms. "That's just like you, Milliardo."

The blond rested his head against his lover's chest. "Well, at least we have a lot of great memories and stories to tell."

"Yes, and we won't have to watch those dead-boring mystery shows anymore."

That elicited a chuckle from Milliardo. "Who says I'm not planning to keep watching them. In fact, we should do that, in Alexander's memory so to speak."

"Oh no," Treize shook his head. "I'll have a brandy every once in a while in his memory, but that's where I draw the line."

Still resting against his lover's chest Milliardo closed his eyes with a soft smile._ That sounds just like something Alexander might have said. Do you realize how much alike the two of you are?_

__________________________________________________________________________________________

T.B.C.

Author's Note: Alright, here we go, the mystery is finally solved. Hope you enjoyed that. Look forward to one more chapter; a short Epilogue to complete this story.


	28. Epilogue

__________________________________________________________________________________________

**The Portrait**

**Epilogue  
**

"So, are you ready to meet my whole, nutty family?" Milliardo asked as he pulled into the private road leading to his parent's property where his graduation party was being held.

"Would it make any difference if I said no?"

"Sorry," the blond grinned. "Too late for cold feet now."

As he stopped in the curved drive way in front of the main house, one of the hired valets hurried over to park the car. Milliardo thanked the young man with a nod and handed him his keys while Treize let Cabal out of his doggy seatbelt. With Alexander gone they had also lost their 'live- in' dog sitter. Rather than leaving him at home along, Milliardo had decided to take Cabal along to his party. The puppy had gotten used to driving in the back of the car and seemed to love it. He usually pressed his nose against the window watching the scenery fly by, and the faster they drove the more he seemed to enjoy it. The two men liked to joke about how the inbred 'need for speed' in a Borzoi apparently also included car racing. Treize snapped the leash onto Cabal's brand new collar before letting him out of the car.

The front entrance was wide open, but music and voices seemed to be coming from the garden in the back.

"Milliardo!" Relena was on her way up the stairs as they walked into the house, but turned on her heels and hurried back down to greet her brother. She hugged him then took a step back, holding him at arm's length to study him for a second. "You look good. Doing nothing really seems to become you," she teased.

"I could get used to it," he laughed. "Relena…Treize…I don't think I need to introduce each other, do I?"

"Ah Professor, it's nice to see you. I almost didn't recognize you." His sister exchanged handshakes with Treize. "Being used to seeing you only in a suit and tie all the time."

Looking down on himself at the short sleeves polo shirt and slacks he was wearing the tawny haired man almost grimaced. "I am underdressed, aren't I?"

Milliardo rolled his eyes. "You are not underdressed. Relena, tell him."

"Absolutely not, Professor. If you go outside and run into a guy wearing shorts and a tank top, that's my father." The young woman grinned. "After all, Milliardo didn't want a fancy party."

"That was a misunderstanding," her brother insisted, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "When I was talking about guests not wearing tuxedos, I was thinking more along the line of inviting the Chippendale dancers," he remarked dryly.

"Could you imagine that?" Relena laughed. "Aunt Marry would have a heart attack, and Great Aunt Melanie would have latched on to her 5th husband before the day is over." When she looked down she suddenly spotted Cabal who had been hiding behind his master's legs and she almost squealed in delight. "Oh my gosh, is that the puppy you told me about? He is just the cutest little thing I have ever seen. Can I look after him?"

"Knock yourself out." Milliardo replied as the professor handed the leash off to her. "But keep an eye on him; he will let you know when he needs to go outside."

"Don't worry. I'll take good care of you, Sweetie."

"Um… Relena, his name his Cabal. He is a boy, so try not to scar him for life by dressing him up in pink bows or fluffy tutus."

Rolling her eyes his sister gave a playful huff. "You know, you are rather prejudice for someone who …"

"Someone who what?" Milliardo asked.

"Ah, never mind. Come on Cupcake, don't listen to him. Pink is not a girly color, you know." She kept ranting, directed at the puppy, as the two of them skipped up the stairs. "In fact even James Dean had a favorite pink shirt, and I bet no one ever questioned his 'manliness'."

Treize chuckled quietly. "She is definitely your sister, no doubt about it. Which of your parents did she get her sharp tongue from?"

"Definitely my father."

"And you, did you get your good looks from your mother?"

"That's what they say. But why don't we go and meet them, then you can see for yourself." Milliardo suggested.

#

"So, have you met any of my relatives yet?" Milliardo asked as he walked over to the small table where Treize was sitting. Since it was **his** party the blond had to mingle and make sure to not neglect any of his guests, which of course meant that the professor was on his own every now and then.

"Oh yes," the other man nodded as he set down the drink he was sipping. "I was just talking to your Uncle Kelly and Aunt Robin…or was it Aunt Kelly and Uncle Robin…? Before that an uncle of your father's was giving me investment advice, and the elderly lady across the pool keeps sending me these mint juleps…"

"My mom's Aunt Melanie? I'm starting to feel jealous," the younger man smirked as he picked a glass of iced tea from a passing waiter's tray. He took a long sip before continuing. "Great Aunt Melanie has a thing for good looking gentlemen; but be warned. She married four times already, and outlived all four of her husbands."

Treize snorted. "You really enjoying this, don't you?"

Before Milliardo was able to answer a woman in a blue summer dress, apparently another aunt (the resemblance to his mother was hard to miss), approached them. "Milliardo, there you are." She gave him a hug then stepped back. "Look at you. I can't believe you graduated from College already. It doesn't seem that long ago when you just started kindergarten." She looked at Treize then back at her nephew. "Will you introduce me to your guest?"

"Oh yes, of course. Meet Treize Khushrenada, Treize this is my Aunt Kimberly, my mother's sister."

"It's a pleasure, Ma'am."

"The pleasure is mine. So, you must be Milliardo roommate. I've heard about you."

"Well actually," Treize gave the blond a quick smirk before he continued. "I'm not just his roommate."

Milliardo paled and almost chocked on his iced tea. _He wouldn't, would he?_

"Oh?" his aunt asked.

Treize flashed her the most charming smile he could master. "I'm also his…history teacher. Or at least I used to be."

"Is that so? History, what an interesting subject."

"Indeed it is," the professor confirmed.

"It was sure nice meeting you, Mister Khushrenada. But you'll have to excuse me; I'd better check if my sister needs any help in the kitchen."

As the woman walked away Milliardo glared at his lover. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Treize blinked innocently. "Just what do you mean, Dear?"

###

"Is he still sleeping?" Milliardo threw a look back over his shoulder as he unlocked the door. Behind him, his lover was carrying Cabal, curled up and fast asleep, in his arms.

"I don't think anything that could wake him right now." Treize replied, and he was probably right.

The puppy was exhausted from playing with and chasing around all the children at the party, which was a good thing. His little round tummy was stuffed with all kinds of table scraps, which was probably not so good. He had fallen asleep the minute they had put him into the car. At the moment he seemed to be dreaming, his little pawns where moving as though he was still chasing after something or someone and he was making funny sounds.

"Let's put him right into his pen," Milliardo suggested. "If we are lucky he will sleep through till the morning."

Treize nodded. "He just might." He set the puppy down on his doggy bed and stood watching him for a few moments before he turned around. "It's still too early to go to bed, should we do anything tonight?"

"Actually, I'm exhausted too. Let's just watch TV."

"I can live with that," the older man agreed with a little shrug.

"I think I'll make some popcorn, you want some, too?"

"How can you still eat anything? I don't think I won't need another meal for the next two days."

Milliardo laughed quietly. "That's because I only ate one steak and couple of sausages, unlike someone else I know."

"What was I supposed to do?" Treize protested. "Your father kept filling my plate every time he emptied the BBQ."

"All you had to do say: 'No thank you.'"

"And risk upsetting the man who might potentially become my father-in-law? I think not."

"Father-in law, huh?" Milliardo gave another laugh.

"You find that idea…funny?"

"Well, let's just take it one step at a time, shall we?" The blond reached for a pack of popcorn and opened the microwave.

With a smirk on his face Treize left the kitchen and walked into the living room. "You forgot to turn off the TV when we left," he called out over his shoulder.

"Did I? Sorry, force of habit." Ever since Alexander's departure they were normally leaving the TV on, so Cabal could hear the voices and wouldn't feel lonely when they left the house.

Treize reached for the TV guide as he dropped down into his recliner. By the time he had checked the evening schedule the quiet pop pop pop sounds coming from the kitchen had almost faded. Moments later Milliardo walked in with a big glass bowl. "So, what are we watching?"

"There is a romantic comedy on channel 7 or we can watch that new court drama, or a two hour special about ancient Egypt on the history channel." The professor reached out for the remote, but before his fingertips ever touched it the TV changed to of all things 'Mystery Theater'. Treize froze.

"Or we can watch 'Mystery Theater'. I like that idea." The blond seemed to think that he had changed the channel.

His eyes narrowed slightly as his hand stretched out further, but suddenly the removed moved, sliding across the table and out of his reach. This time even Milliardo realized what was going on. His eyes went wide and he almost dropped his popcorn.

"Alexander?!"

Now Treize could feel it too, the ghost's familiar presence to his left.

"Alexander, you are back? When did you… and how…" The younger man smiled. "Ah, who cares? Welcome home!"

Treize huffed as he rose to his feet. "Alright, that's it!"

"Wait, Treize, where are you going?"

"I'm calling the cable company, of course," he announced. "If **he** is staying, we will definitely need a second connection upstairs in the attic."

Milliardo burst into laughter; it was a warm and bubbling sound. And just like that the gloomy aura that had been hanging over the house like a dark cloud since the day Alexander left, was suddenly gone. "Yes, I **do** think that might be a good idea."

__________________________________________________________________________________________

The End

Author's Note: Here we are, at the end what was supposed to be a short 2-3 chapter Halloween story; and I only went about 20 chapters over my goal. :)  
I hope everyone, especially those who had been 'mourning' about Alexander's departure, enjoyed the little surprise at the end. I'd like to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews and feedback along the way, they really kept me motivated. Some people were asking about a sequel. Well, there is always a possibility, but first I have to work on some of the other stories on my to-do list.  
Which reminds me… I'm looking for someone interesting in doing some research for me for a future fic. It will be a historical, adventure type story set during or around Victorian times. Anyone interested, please contact me for more information. There is an e-mail link on my profile page.

Thanks again.


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